


I Might Treasure You To Bits

by TopJoy



Series: The Hand Holding Series [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Dorkiness, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Romantic Comedy, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-03 21:19:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10975536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TopJoy/pseuds/TopJoy
Summary: Feelings are difficult, but exponentially moreso when you want other people to understand them. But it's go big or go home, and Sunstreaker is committed to knocking it out of the park, possibly literally with a baseball bat made from Starscream's leg.This fic is: all dumb fluff, minor misunderstandings and even some good kissing robot boys. Someone (cough) loses a leg at the beginning but it's not super graphic, so I'm leaving the archive warnings out.





	1. My Love for You is a Leg

There weren’t a lot of people, who knew, exactly, the location of a seeker’s T-cog. Reportedly, there was a method by which one could easily locate it that consisted of checking certain measurements in wing-span and nosecone. You could use these to track the date of forging or manufacture, and with a little cross-referencing, you’d know where the T-cog on that model family was located.

Sunstreaker was not one of the people who knew where a seeker’s T-cog was located, or how to find out. He punched through the plating on Starscream’s back like it was made of paper mache, and Sunstreaker an impatient child on a treasure hunt. This game, he knew, was traditionally meant to be played with a bat, but being three hundred feet off the ground meant he didn’t quite have access to one. Maybe if he found an arm in here he could tear it off and whack the seeker with it.

Starscream, for his part, was living up to the latter half of his name, and frantically rolling and diving to try to dislodge the angry frontliner from his back. Sunstreaker normally would’ve bailed at this point – out of a combination of self-preservation and boredom – but today Starscream had earned as much as Sunstreaker could dish out. Cut and dry, he’d be leaving with Starscream’s T-cog. Or at least the arm.

A call came through on his comm, and Sunstreaker grunted at the distraction as he peeled up Starscream’s ailerons, trying to fix him in a nosedive.

<Sunstreaker, we’re retreating. Disengage,> came Prowl’s tired voice.

<Give me a couple more minutes,> Sunstreaker replied.

<We need you to cover the medical transport,> Prowl informed him. Sunstreaker paused.

<Twenty seconds,> he amended.

<Affirmative,> Prowl agreed, ending the communication.

Sunstreaker got back to work. No time to try and dig out the T-cog, but he _did_ have a good idea of where Starscream’s leg was after all this digging. That’d be a pretty good consolation prize. He punched into the seeker’s plating, crumpling it in on itself until it was weak enough to shear. Cabling came loose, the screaming increased, and Sunstreaker threw himself off the flagging flier, using his own weight to rip the transformed limb fee – plus one leg for Sunstreaker as he fell to the ground, just before Starscream smashed into the lake a few hundred feet ahead of him.

“Oh, shit! Nice prize!” Sideswipe shouted, jogging over to him. Sunstreaker tossed the leg to him, and the trophy-hoarder folded it up so he could stuff it into one of his much larger subspace pockets.

“You sound like an idiot,” Sunstreaker grumbled as he transformed and peeled away towards the medical transport.

“I think the human swears are cute,” Sideswipe replied cheekily.

“Shut the frag up.” Sunstreaker grunted as he fell alongside Ironhide, who had become the de-facto medical transport in the absence of Optimus. He had the most space, even if he was slow.

“How’s he doing, ‘Hide?” Sideswipe asked.

“Good enough to move, anyways,” Ironhide replied, sounding worried as they started back to base. They peeled past Prowl, who laid down a coat of acid on the ground behind them to prevent them from being followed. The trick worked well enough to stop Skywarp and Thundercracker, who were pursuing on foot for better aim with their rifles. As they staggered, Bluestreak laid down suppressing fire with his rifle, shredding one of Skywarp’s wings and causing Thundercracker to wrap his arm around his brother to throw them both out of the way. This gave Prowl enough time to transform and swerve out behind the rest of the squad, and Bluestreak joined them once they’d disengaged, kicking up a cloud of dust.

“You fragged up, Prowl,” Sunstreaker growled, bristling.

“Where’d they even come from?” Sideswipe asked. “This wasn’t supposed to be a whole....thing,”

“I don’t know,” Prowl replied, and Sunstreaker could hear the anxiety hiding underneath. Prowl hated not knowing. “I’m sorry,” he added. Sunstreaker grumbled.

“Don’t frag it up again,” he growled.

“Sunny’s just grumpy ‘cos his plating got a little scuffed,” Sideswipe teased.

“Frag off!” Sunstreaker snapped.

“Yikes, okay,” Sideswipe muttered, falling behind Ironhide a little bit as Prowl shifted to take the lead. Sunstreaker stayed close to the red van’s side, engine rumbling quietly, axles whining with tension.

 

Back at base, there was a bit of a kerfuffle. Prowl had called ahead to notify them that they were returning and that someone was injured, but had kept most of the base out of the loop on who, exactly. Ironhide drove directly to the medbay, Prowl and Sunstreaker close behind, while Sideswipe and Bluestreak stopped at the entrance to distract the concerned Ark residents with Starscream’s trophy leg.

Wheeljack met them in the medbay, concerned, and Optimus stood out in the hall somewhat awkwardly holding his hands in front of him, trying not to betray his own anxiety. Sunstreaker transformed to help haul the patient out of Ironhide’s altmode.

Ratchet was still offline. Sunstreaker had seen enough injuries to know that this would be bad left untreated, but that Ratchet _should_ be okay since they’d made it to a medbay in short order. The shot had gone straight through his windshield, but at an angle that it probably – hopefully – hadn’t grazed any part of his spark casing, or his fuel pump – but the way Ratchet’s plating was melted and sheared, the exit wound several times the size of the entry...Sunstreaker carefully carried the medic and laid him out in his medbay, then stood back to let Wheeljack get to work. Perceptor was here, too, and Hoist, if they needed him.

“We should wait outside,” Prowl said to him quietly after a few minutes of fidgeting and watching the medics work – removing the primary armor on Ratchet’s chest, revealing the internal mechanisms, slowly unfolding them to reveal a brightly spinning spark that made Sunstreaker’s vents hitch with relief --

“Mm,” Sunstreaker muttered as Prowl gently tapped his arm to remind him to follow him out. Optimus stood at the door, looking for a glimpse of his friend.

“Prowl, please report,” he said, sounding more formal than he looked.

“We were reviewing the site of the hydro-electric dam in the wake of the prior Decepticon attack to evaluate its safety for the return of human workers,” Prowl began, clasping his hands behind his back to avoid fidgeting, “when we were ambushed by Decepticons. I suspect they had gone to collect wreckage and spotted us before we spotted them.”

“Starscream shot Ratchet through the chassis when he tried to push me out of the way,” Sunstreaker added. “So I stole his leg.”

“I see,” Optimus said. “It’s a good thing you brought extra back-up, Prowl.”

“I was not expecting Decepticons,” Prowl replied. “I only brought Sunstreaker and Sideswipe as part of a punishment for last week’s altercation.”

“Then it’s very lucky you did,” Optimus consoled.

“Yes,” Prowl sighed. “I need to review and alter our aerial patrols. Please excuse me,” he said.

“I’m going to get that leg back from Sideswipe,” Sunstreaker quickly added. He hated being left alone with Optimus for more than thirty seconds, so he didn’t even wait for the formal dismissal. Prowl, on the other hand, did, and ended up getting a fatherly hand on the shoulder and a peptalk that Sunstreaker could tell the datsun didn’t think he deserved. Sunstreaker grumbled. Being mad at Prowl would be easier if he wasn’t already so miserable. Being mad at Starscream was fruitless – the stupid Seeker wasn’t here to steal more pieces from.

“Hey, Sunny!” Sideswipe waved the leg at him from down the hall. A few mechs – Cliffjumper, Bee, Smokescreen – were admiring the handy work, and turned to golf-clap at him. Bluestreak stood with the group, trying his best not to look anxious – and succeeding, but only because his efforts made it look like he was going to purge.

“How’s – uh – you know?” Bluestreak asked before he could think to stop himself.

“Fine,” Sunstreaker growled. “Give me that back. I’m gonna smelt it.”

“What? No! We gotta think of something better than that!” Sideswipe held the leg away from him.

“Yeah, make a flagpole out of it or something!” Bumblebee grinned.

“No, frag off,” Sunstreaker said, reaching for the leg.

“Turn it into a club and beat him with it next time you see him,” Cliffjumper said.

“I said --” Sunstreaker began, but paused. That was actually a pretty good idea.

“Who got injured?” Smokescreen asked.

“Ratchet,” Bluestreak blurted. The two minibots suddenly went quiet.

“Is it bad?” Bumblebee asked tentatively.

“Dunno,” Sunstreaker growled, taking the opportunity to snatch the leg back from Sideswipe, who was too busy frowning to pout.

“Looked bad,” Sideswipe said quietly.

“You said he was fine!” Bluestreak whined.

“I saw his – spark,” Sunstreaker said, turning away and crossing his arms. “It was fine.”

“O-oh.” Bluestreak fidgeted, just like Prowl fidgeted. “That’s good. That’s good!”

“Yeah, I think he’ll be okay,” Sideswipe said, cracking a nervous smile and trying to change the tune. “It – didn’t look _that_ bad, right Sunny?”

“Frag off,” Sunstreaker replied, stomping away and dragging Starscream’s leg behind him.

 

In the middle of the night, Sunstreaker found himself wandering into the medbay. He’d initially spent some time cleaning his plating, meticulously buffing out dents, applying and reapplying paint with severity and concentration until no one would’ve been able to tell he’d been in a fight with a trine of seekers that morning. After that he’d stomped around the lesser-used halls of the Ark in an attempt to avoid both gossip and his brother, grumbling and replaying the events of the day back in his head, over and over, until finally he’d found himself in front of the medbay doors.

It was quiet. Ratchet being injured was not insignificant, in the Ark. The crew was anxious, but Prowl had cautioned them away from the medbay, – Ratchet would’ve gotten visits and gifts from everyone, as he deserved, and the noise and traffic probably would’ve disturbed his recovery. After some complaining about Prowl’s cold attitude, Optimus had clarified and explained that once Ratchet was in better health, everyone would be allowed in.

Sunstreaker didn’t really care about getting in trouble for visiting. It was his fault Ratchet was injured, anyways. But he hesitated outside the door. Had it always been such a tall door? It felt like it towered over him, a gateway that guarded a lonely landscape. He sucked in a deep vent and stepped across the threshold from the dark hallway to the fluorescent medbay.

The medbay felt massive and incongruous without Ratchet. Even though Ratchet _was_ there, there was just something wrong about seeing it without the medic standing over one of the berths, or at his desk in the back, or at least in knowing he would be back shortly. Instead, Perceptor was asleep at the desk, and Wheeljack was quietly checking over some of the equipment and readouts at the only occupied berth. He looked up when Sunstreaker entered, headfins flashing in greeting.

“Is it okay...?” Sunstreaker asked, vocalizer a whisper.

“Sure, sure,” he said, walking over to Sunstreaker.

“He’s....?” Sunstreaker added.

“Gonna be fine. Sore for a while though,” Wheeljack said. “Gave us a little scare, but he’s tough.”

“Sore?” Sunstreaker asked, worry bleeding into his voice.

“Lost a few components we don’t have replacements on hand for in his size. Most’ve Ratchet and Ironhide’s parts’re the same, so we usually rely on that stock, since Ratchet doesn’t get hurt as much...but Ironhide’s a little bigger than Ratchet, so not all of the spares fit well. He’s gonna have to use them until we can fabricate new parts in his size. It’ll keep him running fine, it’ll just be a bit uncomfortable, and he won’t be able to transform or do anything too strenuous,” Wheeljack explained quietly.

“Right...” Sunstreaker muttered, crossing his arms again.

“You wanna sit with him?” Wheeljack asked suddenly. Sunstreaker blinked.

“Huh?”

“Prowl said he got hurt ‘cos he jumped in front of you like a dumb-aft,” Wheeljack whispered cheerfully.

“No, he was trying to push me out of the way,” Sunstreaker hissed.

“Oh, that makes more sense. Must’ve misheard,” Wheeljack said. “Sounded more like something First Aid would do, not Ratchet.”

“Yeah,” Sunstreaker said.

“Either way, you can sit with him, if you want.”

“Are you sure?” Sunstreaker asked.

“Yeah, so long as you’re quiet, and don’t touch the machines,” Wheeljack said. “We’re still vacuuming some of the energon and coolant from his ventilation systems.”

“Oh...Thanks,” Sunstreaker said.

“Call me or wake Perceptor up if you need something,” Wheeljack added before heading towards the door. “Going to work on the parts,” he explained.

“Sure,” Sunstreaker mumbled as the door closed, leaving him in the quiet medbay. He looked over at the recharging form of Perceptor, face-down next to a box of spare parts at the desk and the mostly-repaired remains of Ratchet’s chestplate. Like a snoring hummingbird, he made a soft hiccoughing noise every now and then as one of his fans squeaked ever so slightly. He didn’t look like he’d be waking up anytime soon, so Sunstreaker gingerly approached the offline form of Ratchet.

The first thought that struck him was that it was funny seeing Ratchet look so relaxed. Sunstreaker didn’t think he’d ever seen the medic in recharge before, and most of the time he was concerned about something – a patient, a project, the Dinobots. Always concentrating on something, or scowling at Ironhide or Prowl for ignoring his medical advice, or Wheeljack because he’d blown something up again --

Sunstreaker shook his head and glanced down to examine the damage, feeling embarrassed as he did so. Seeing someone else’s internal mechanisms without the requisite social or physical combat seemed inappropriate. Ratchet’s windshield and chestplate were on the desk next to sleeping Perceptor, so only the freshly welded inner armour stood between Sunstreaker’s optics and that bright blue spark. He had to admire Wheeljack and Perceptor’s work on the welds – they were hairline, and once Ratchet’s systems assimilated them, there wouldn’t even be scars.

But where they’d excelled at repairing internals they’d slacked on plating – dents and scuffs, some paint transfers from Ironhide and Sunstreaker when he’d caught the collapsing medic – dirt caught in his tires still, a scrape on his helm. Sunstreaker frowned. He didn’t normally dwell on anyone’s dents but his own, but Ratchet deserved to have immaculate plating. Maybe when he woke up he’d offer to help him with the buffing and the repainting. He leaned forward and gently swept away a particle of dirt from Ratchet’s chevron, and then froze in abject horror.

What was he doing? Why did he care so much about Ratchet’s plating, all of a sudden? Had it been all of a sudden? He quickly withdrew his hand and turned to look at the medical readouts, crossing his arms and covering his mouth with one hand. He didn’t even care this much about his stupid brother’s plating – not that it would matter if he did, Sideswipe was always mucking it up – and it wasn’t even because he was mad at Ratchet for poor maintenance, he just wanted him to look nice. Because he deserved to look nice. Sunstreaker liked Ratchet more than the other idiots on the Ark because he wasn’t an idiot, he told himself. Ratchet was always sensible and polite and observant and took time to think before he said anything. Sunstreaker glanced over his shoulder at the resting medic, feeling baffled. He sat down, fixating on Ratchet’s feet – such a good, simple design, hard angles, soft curves.

He’d been in a bad mood all day, he reflected. And he’d gone far above and beyond to steal Starscream’s leg in retaliation. He rarely got that invested even when Sideswipe got hurt – to be fair, he told himself, that was almost all the time, even though it wasn’t usually as bad an injury. After Prowl and Ironhide had taken Ratchet from him – the moment when he couldn’t do anything more for the medic – it’d just seemed like the imperative thing to do, he thought. Like he’d filled up with so much impotent rage at not being able to help that he’d reached some kind of critical threshold where anger didn’t compute anymore except as a simple expression of violence. His current confusion, he realized, was because he’d mistaken the simplicity of absolute fury with his usual calm annoyance.

With the realization of how angry he was came, of course, the anger. He bit down on one servo while balling his other hand into a fist, trembling with barely contained energy. He wanted to throw things. Smash things. Hit people. He imagined himself holding Starscream down and punching in his stupid face until his optics shattered and he finally had a mouth big enough to keep up with his ego. The leg wasn’t enough, he wanted Starscream’s fuel pump, his arms, his wings, his head, just so he could punt it into a volcano.

He flexed his servos, venting heavily and doubling over, grinding his teeth together. He wanted to slap the stupid smile off of Sideswipe’s face for all his flippant comments, and scream at Prowl for making such a stupid mistake as not sending a flier ahead of them to scout the area out.

But he also wanted to kick his own aft as much as anyone else’s, for not seeing Starscream before Ratchet did, for being too bored with his watch duty and too distracted watching Ratchet work to get out of the way --

“Oh,” a burst of static knocked Sunstreaker out of his downward spiral, jolting his spark into a lopsided rotation and sending icy coolant shooting through his lines in preparation for his combat systems to come online. He looked over and saw Ratchet’s dimly flickering optics. “Mm,” mumbled Ratchet.

“Ratchet?” Sunstreaker whispered.

“Mm?” Ratchet inquired.

“Are...you okay?” Sunstreaker asked quietly. “Should I get Wheeljack?”

“Mm,” Ratchet replied. “Did he break something?”

“No?” Sunstreaker offered, confused.

“Okay,” Ratchet smiled. Sunstreaker felt his faceplate heat up. “Should be fine,” he added. “I’m going back to sleep-mode.”

“O-okay,” Sunstreaker said. “Goodnight?”

“Mm, get some rest, Sunstreaker,” Ratchet chided. “Or your systems won’t reset, then you’ll be stuck in the medbay longer,” he mumbled.

“O-oh,” Sunstreaker said, covering his mouth with his hand. “I really wouldn’t mind being stuck here a little longer,” he added quietly.

“Don’t be dumb, nobody likes hanging out in the medbay,” Ratchet replied blearily. “Okay. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Sunstreaker said as Ratchet’s optics dimmed again. He said completely still for a moment, waiting to make sure the medic didn’t wake up again, then let out a deep vent.

_Oh my god_ , he thought. _He thinks I’m the one who’s hurt._ _That’s so cute._

_Oh my god_ , he thought again. _I’m so fragging dumb. What the frag. Frag! Frag me. I can’t believe I just thought that. What the fuck. Oh no._

Sunstreaker looked back over at Ratchet, mouth still covered. He didn’t just like Ratchet a little more than other mechs, he treasured the medic. Possibly to bits.


	2. Don't Be Super Weird About It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sunstreaker gets a little hot and bothered, Perceptor is startled, and Ratchet is concerned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lil smut in this one and I apologize in advance for knowing approximately (0) things about writing smut.

Three nights later, things had gone from bad to worse. Sunstreaker was laying on his berth with his hands folded over his waist, trying desperately to keep the heat out of his face. Sideswipe was deep in recharge, sprawled over his own berth, one leg in the air, arm hanging off. Since the realization that he treasured Ratchet, it was like a whole door he hadn’t remembered was there had slammed open in his processor. At first he’d been reluctant to go into the imaginarium that lay beyond it, only dipping in toes and occasionally telling himself he’d definitely close the door and lock it and throw away the key – but here he was, fully immersed, and simultaneously completely ashamed and totally shameless about it.

He definitely wanted to kiss Ratchet.

He was going to do it, once he figured out how someone went about actually doing these things. Sideswipe had done it, he knew, but he hadn’t really asked him about it. Sunstreaker normally didn’t like thinking about it. Dating wasn’t his thing. Still wasn’t his thing. Except he did want to kiss Ratchet, and also hold him down and frag him gently and hard and lovingly into a berth. Which wasn’t his thing, he thought abjectly. He hadn’t had a lot of interest in interfacing before, though he’d thought about it and read about it and maybe experimented a little alone before deciding he didn’t really want to do it with anyone because that would be a little _too_ personal. Interfacing was Sideswipe’s thing, and even Sideswipe wasn’t _that_ interested in it. Nobody really talked about it since the Ark had crashed. Maybe because the dating pool was pretty small, and there was nowhere to escape gossip and awkwardness if things didn’t work out. Or maybe Sunstreaker just never noticed it?

But right now, heat was pooling in his face and his array, and his fuel tank was bubbling and doing little flips thinking about maybe kissing Ratchet, and maybe pinning him against a wall and biting him possessively and thrusting up into him hard and making him moan out his name --

Sunstreaker sat up, face furiously hot, and quickly left the room as quietly as he could – not that anything short of a natural disaster could ever wake Sideswipe up. He wandered to the nearest washracks in a daze, and locked the door behind him. He didn’t turn the lights on, just using his own headlights to navigate.

He turned on one of the solvent showers, setting it to scald, and sat down against the wall under the stream. He leaned back and, still somewhat dazed, started to stroke his panel, which quickly retracted. His spike pressurized so fast it almost startled him, prefluid already beading at the tip. Hot solvent trickled down the shaft, making him shudder. He grasped close to the base, biting his lip as he started pumping his hand up and down. It’d been a long time since he’d done this, he reflected briefly as he awkwardly settled into a rhythym. He shuttered his optics, gliding his palm up and down the shaft. Holding Ratchet from behind, running hands up his waist and up those smooth curves to cup his bumper, grinding against his aft, thrusting up into his valve, turning his head to kiss him --

Sunstreaker moaned, then quickly slid a knuckle of his free hand into his mouth, pressing himself back against the wall as he quickened his pace. His vents puffed steam out against his plating, hidden in the mist of solvent rising around him. Turning Ratchet, holding him down, pressing up between his thighs, kissing him, burying his face and his teeth into his neck and taking him hard and slow --

He bit back a whimper as he thrust up into his hand, pressing a servo against his glossa while another knuckle pushed against his lower lip and he bit down. He wanted to hear Ratchet murmur his name into his throat, desperate and quiet and yearning, feel those brilliant red hands dig into his seams, thighs squeezing his waist with an uncomplicated love and desire --

Sunstreaker moaned and bit down hard on his servos, arching his back into the tile as his hips bucked. Charge crackled along his plating, conducted by the solvent, and transfluid briefly decorated his thighs and his chassis before being rinsed away. He sat under the hot solvent for a moment, panting, then released his spike and put his head in his hands.

“Frag me,” he murmured under his breath. He quickly rinsed himself off and then let his panels click shut, mortified. He would definitely _not_ be kissing Ratchet – though he really wanted to – but this was definitely all fragged up enough without acting on it. He couldn’t believe his lack of restraint. Ratchet probably didn’t feel the same way about him at all, all this was just wishful thinking.

He turned off the solvent and stood under the taps for a moment, leaning against the wall as the last of the steam billowed up around him. He’d never felt this way about anybody _specific_ before. Even if Ratchet turned him down, he’d really be missing out if he didn’t try, wouldn’t he? That’s what Sideswipe would say, anyways. Plus, even if Ratchet wasn’t interested in interfacing, Sunstreaker really _did_ want to make sure the medic knew how much he appreciated him. Ratchet probably already knew how much he meant – after all, everybody knew he was the best medic on the Ark, hell, on Earth, the universe and on, and that they all owed their lives to him. But Sunstreaker wanted to make _sure_ he knew how much Sunstreaker _specifically_ treasured him.

Not in a way that was weird though, right? He didn’t want Ratchet to think he was obsessed with him or something. He wasn’t. Well, not in a weird way, right? No, definitely in kind of a weird way, he reflected, considering the light buzz of charge that was still dancing along his plating. His faceplates heated up again as he turned to leave the washracks. He wouldn’t be creepy about it, he resolved. How did he manage not to be creepy about it? All the human movies he watched with Sideswipe made it painfully obvious how easy it was to be creepy about it. Sunstreaker scowled. He definitely didn’t want that.

He prowled down the Ark’s halls, scowling and biting at his servos. Okay, how did he manage to tell Ratchet he wanted to be a little more than friends? A _lot_ more than friends. Should he just tell him about it? They didn’t really talk a lot outside the medbay, Sunstreaker realized. Most of their interactions consisted of injuries and that kind of thing – or, well, that, and Sunstreaker lurking around watching Ratchet working, and talking, and sipping his fuel gingerly from the corner of the cube – oh, god, Sunstreaker really _was_ super creepy. Ratchet probably didn’t even think of them as _friends_. The detailing, he thought to himself. He’d offer to help Ratchet with that. A whole new paintjob if he wanted. He’d do anything, everybody knew Sunstreaker was the best and that he didn’t repaint just anybody. But at the same time offering to help with detailing was a thing friends could just do, right? But it could _also_ be a more than friends thing.

_Just start with that_ , Sunstreaker thought. _Don’t get too ahead of yourself_. He looked up, and realized he was standing outside the medbay again. He froze awkwardly. He was about to turn away when the door opened, and a startled Perceptor started to leave.

“Oh!” Perceptor said, holding a box of scrapmetal. “Sunstreaker! Did you need something?”

“No!” Sunstreaker practically yelled, which startled the scientist enough to make him drop the box he was holding. Sunstreaker grimaced, quickly bending down to start picking up the scattered items. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“It’s okay,” Perceptor laughed. “I guess I startled you too.”

“Yeah,” Sunstreaker admitted begrudgingly. They worked in silence for a moment, collecting screws and lugnuts.

“You looked, uh, very deep in thought,” Perceptor commented.

“Mm,” Sunstreaker muttered with a noncommittal grunt.

“Were you going to visit Ratchet?” Perceptor asked.

“It’s kind of late. Or, er, early,” Sunstreaker replied.

“Oh, well, he’s up, if you want to go in,” Perceptor smiled. Sunstreaker felt his face heat up immediately and tried to hide it by shoving the box into Perceptor’s hands.

“Uh, maybe,” Sunstreaker said. Oh no, Perceptor was going to be able to tell he was being super weird.

“Well, see you later!” Perceptor said cheerily, as if he’d noticed absolutely nothing at all, walking off with his box. Sunstreaker watched him go, feeling a little baffled. He looked back at the open medbay door. Oh no, had Ratchet seen him? Was it okay to talk to somebody after you’d just embarrassingly imagined fragging them in a variety of positions and got off on it? And probably were gonna do it again later? _No, don’t do it again later_ , he mentally smacked himself. He was definitely going to and he absolutely hated himself about it.

The door was still open, Sunstreaker realized. The motion sensors had detected him and held it open. Even if he hadn’t seen him, Ratchet had to know someone was standing outside the door, now. If he had seen him and he ran away, it would be even weirder, he told himself as he stumbled through the door.

“Oh, hello, Sunstreaker,” Ratchet said from a medberth, where he was sitting up and working on some datapads, brow furrowed as ever. Sunstreaker looked around – there were a few gifts. Somebody had left some flowers, probably Sparkplug, and there were some boxes that probably had energon goodies in them. One was opened and Ratchet was absently sucking on an energon gel. Horribly Sunstreaker briefly envied the energon gel, and a whole new wave of self-loathing washed over him. But there weren’t as many gifts as Sunstreaker had expected. Shouldn’t the medbay be flooded with them? Maybe everybody was taking a little extra time to ensure they were suitably excellent gifts.

“Er, sorry it’s early,” Sunstreaker said. Ratchet waved a hand at him dismissively, then gestured for him to come over. Sunstreaker wandered over and sat down in a daze.

“It’s fine, I was up anyways. I slept all day,” Ratchet explained. “I really only just got up.”

“Oh...should you rest more?” Sunstreaker asked, concerned.

“Are you going to tease me too? Wheeljack and Sparkplug have been berating me for working too hard,” Ratchet looked crestfallen. “I’m not that overbearing, am I?”

“No, not at all!” Sunstreaker blurted. “Er, I mean, not to me,” he added. “I mean – I don’t mind, I like it,” _oh my god stop_.

“Well, you’re always a good patient,” Ratchet smiled, then frowned. “Not like your brother. It’s hard not to weld him to the berth sometimes.”

“I agree,” Sunstreaker nodded. “Sideswipe is a real pain in the aft and deserves to be welded to a berth.”

“Don’t kid, I’ll really do it,” Ratchet said.

“You should. I’m not joking,” Sunstreaker said, completely serious. Ratchet stared at him, then suddenly cracked into a laugh, which made him wince. Sunstreaker practically jumped, reaching over him, but stopped, unsure of how to help.

“Oof – sorry, sorry, I’m fine,” Ratchet wheezed.

“Are you sure? Should I get Wheeljack?”

“No, it’s just the gears grinding, they’re too big,” Ratchet explained.

“Oh, yeah, Wheeljack told me,” Sunstreaker said. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need some dampners or – something?”

“I’m really just fine, Sunstreaker,” Ratchet replied. “Why are you up so early, anyways? Shouldn’t you be recharging?”

“O-oh,” Sunstreaker sat back down with a thud, faceplate heating up. “Couldn’t recharge,” he mumbled, covering his mouth and looking away.

“Are you upset about something? It’s not your fault I got shot, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No, no, I mean, yeah, sorta...” Sunstreaker mumbled. “If I’d been paying more attention but – I stole Starscream’s leg for you,” Sunstreaker blurted. Who the frag was he, Bluestreak? He’d never had so much trouble keeping his mouth shut in his life. He went whole days without talking, but now he was just spitting out whatever came to mind.

“I heard about that,” Ratchet smiled.

“You did?”

“Bluestreak told me all about it. He was pretty upset about the whole thing. He brought me a datapad with all his comics to read as recompense, I guess,” Ratchet tapped a datapad sitting beside all the goodies. “Oh, did you want one?” he asked suddenly, holding out a rust-dusted gel.

“Uh, sure,” Sunstreaker said, taking the goodie from him. He didn’t really eat sweets, but he popped it into his mouth.

“Wheeljack, Prowl, and Perceptor all brought me treats, they know what I like,” Ratchet chuckled.

“It’s good,” Sunstreaker said. It _was_ good. Really good. He had to keep this in mind. He’d get Ratchet all the energon goodies he wanted, whenever he wanted them. The least he could do.

“Please don’t feel guilty about what happened, Sunstreaker,” Ratchet returned to the topic suddenly, reaching over and putting an immaculate red hand on Sunstreaker’s elbow. “It’s really not your fault.”

“Still, I’m – it shouldn’t have happened, I should be protecting you better,” Sunstreaker wanted to tear his own leg off and hit himself in the head with it. Before Ratchet could say anything, Sunstreaker quickly tried his own redirect. “If you want I could maybe help you fix your paint?”

“Sunstreaker – oh, huh?” Ratchet glanced down at his paint. “I guess there are a few spots that could be retouched, I don’t always pay as much attention as I should...”

“No no, it just should be perfect,” Sunstreaker said quickly. “I mean – because – you deserve perfect paint,” Sunstreaker amended. Ratchet stared at him, looking baffled, then that concerned frown crossed his face and he leaned forward a bit.

“Hold still, I’m going to run a medical scan,” he said, putting a hand on Sunstreaker’s helmfin, which made his whole head heat up. “You’re running a little hot, did you take some damage?” Ratchet asked.

“Wh-what? No?” It was Sunstreaker’s turn to be baffled.

“You’re acting a little odd,” Ratchet explained as the medical scan tingled along his plating.

“I am?” he asked. “I mean, I know,” he muttered dejectedly as Ratchet finished, frowning about the results.

“You’re overheating, but not at unsafe levels...”

“I’m not damaged,” Sunstreaker explained. “I’m just – uh, I didn’t recharge, so maybe I’m a little...weird. Would you let me detail your plating, though? When you’re feeling better?”

“Er,” Ratchet said, looking surprised. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Sunstreaker stared him dead in the face.

“Uh, okay,” Ratchet said.

“Do you mind if I come back and see you tomorrow?” Sunstreaker added.

“No, that would be – fine?” Ratchet still seemed puzzled.

“Do you want me to bring you anything?”

“Uh – no,” Ratchet said. “I think I’ve got what I need, I mean.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sunstreaker said, getting up. “Feel better,” he added as an afterthought as he rapidly made towards the medbay exit.

“Bye?” he heard as the door shut.


	3. Giant Metal Ballerinas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jazz and Sparkplug are more clued in than any of these chuckleheads, Red Alert is ready to put everybody in the penalty box for the rest of the game, Grimlock has no respect for his parents or Prowl's right to remain perpendicular to the floor, and Ratchet needs to take an emotional nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record on the human versus typical TF swears: the joke, if it wasn't clear, is that saying 'fuck' is kind of the same as saying 'frick' because it's goofy human swears, meanwhile, frag is like...proper swearing. So Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are like running around going 'frick' and 'oh fudge' and such because that's adorable. And then the real reason I've done this is because 'what the fuck' is way funnier than 'what the frag' I'm sorry it just is

Sunstreaker recharged for much longer than he usually did, well into the afternoon. Sideswipe was gone when he woke up, and Sunstreaker was briefly tempted to take advantage of his absence before mentally trashbinning the thought and heading to the washracks. He cleaned up, meticulously checking over his plating as ever, and then headed towards the medbay. He was offduty that day, or at least, he hadn’t heard anything from Prowl.

_Don’t be such a fragging creep this time_ , he warned himself as he passed Optimus in the hall, and then bumped into Sparkplug.

“Oh, Sunstreaker,” Sparkplug waved up at him. Sunstreaker paused and looked down, he didn’t normally really talk to Sparkplug.

“Hi,” he said.

“You going to visit Ratchet?” Sparkplug asked.

“Yeah,” Sunstreaker quirked an optic ridge. “How did you know?”

“I was just there, he said you visited him last night and would be stopping by again today,” Sparkplug explained.

“Oh,” Sunstreaker felt his spark drop. “Did he say I was acting weird?”

“Yeah, he maybe mentioned that,” Sparkplug chuckled. Sunstreaker’s spark dropped even more.

“Oh,” he mumbled.

“He’s looking forward to seeing you, though,” Sparkplug added. Sunstreaker couldn’t keep the surprise out of his face.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he hasn’t got a lot of visitors since the first day,” Sparkplug explained. “Optimus came again today, but mostly it’s just me, Perceptor and Wheeljack, since they’ve gotta work in the medbay anyways. Oh, I guess Prowl popped by a couple times, but only for a few minutes. You’re the only other one who’s been in more than once.”

“I am?” Sunstreaker felt shocked. “Everybody should be visiting him, though,” he said.

“You think?” Sparkplug chuckled.

“Of course.” Sunstreaker replied flatly, glaring.

“But you don’t mind not sharing, do you?” Sparkplug winked.

“No. I mean – what?” Sunstreaker blinked, looking down at Sparkplug, who beamed back up at him.

“Just be gentle, he’s still feeling sensitive – emotionally and physically,” Sparkplug explained, giving Sunstreaker a light punch in the knee as he continued his way down the hall. “Good luck!”

Sunstreaker glanced over his shoulder to watch the older human go. “What the frag,” he murmured. Humans were so weird. He continued on to the medbay.

 

The second visit went a little better than the first two. This was probably because neither Ratchet nor Sunstreaker were totally exhausted. Ratchet told Sunstreaker about his handful of other visitors, how Optimus had come and loomed around the medbay like an awkward mountain, how Sparkplug had brought him more of the lovely earth-flowers, and how Prowl kept coming in to explain the various steps he’d taken to prevent another incident in a multi-part series of micro-reports. He also groused that Ironhide hadn’t come to see him at all.

“He’s really a useless relative to have,” Ratchet grumbled. “Can’t even borrow his spare parts.”

“I’ll make him visit if you want,” Sunstreaker said. Ratchet chuckled, picking up a cube of medical grade and taking a small sip.

“I’m only kidding, it’s fun to complain a little. Thanks, though,” he said. The medbay doors cycled open again and Sunstreaker glanced over his shoulder.

“Ratchet! My bot, how ya doin’?” It was Jazz, holding his arms out wide. “Woulda stopped by earlier, but I just got back to base from Mexico,” he explained, then held a box above his head and shook it a little. “Brought ya some more goodies. I know you probably already got a bunch, so I maybe had these ones made up a little special.”

“I shouldn’t be having high-grade until I’m off the medical grade,” Ratchet frowned a little.

“So save ‘em for a special occasion, then,” Jazz said, putting the box down beside the other three. “Gotta say, didn’t expect to see you here, Sunstreaker.”

“Why not?” Sunstreaker asked a little too hotly.

“Just thought if anybody’d be hovering around worrying it’d be, I dunno, Red Alert or Optimus,” Jazz teased.

“I’m not hovering!” Sunstreaker snapped, crossing his arms.

“Sunstreaker’s been keeping me company. I haven’t seen Red Alert, but I’m sure he’s keeping an eye on things,” Ratchet pointed up at one of the video sensors in the ceiling. “And you know Optimus has the bedside manner of a well-meaning boulder.”

“That I do know,” Jazz said, smiling. “Wheeljack and Percy hangin’ out with you much?”

“They’re working hard getting the parts ready for me, so not so much, no,” Ratchet shrugged. “I’ve been reading Bluestreak’s comicbook collection he gave me.”

Jazz talked to Ratchet with an easy familiarity that Sunstreaker envied, but the conversation was surprisingly revealing. Jazz, Sunstreaker realized, was worried Ratchet was lonely. Why the hell would Ratchet be lonely? Didn’t everybody want to come and talk to him? Worse, he realized, Ratchet _was_ lonely. And bored, and tired of being in the medbay.

“Do you wanna go for a walk?” Sunstreaker asked suddenly. Jazz paused mid sentence and looked over.

“I shouldn’t put too much strain on my gears,” Ratchet frowned again, taking another sip from the cube of med-grade.

“I’ll carry you,” Sunstreaker replied bluntly. Jazz raised his optical ridge, then turned to Ratchet.

“Hey, that’s a good idea. It’d be good for you to get out of the medbay for a bit,” he said, then leaned forward conspiratorially. “Plus, you really gonna turn down an offer to get carried around in those big strong arms?”

“Wh-what?” Ratchet spluttered his energon, face heating.

“Shut up Jazz,” Sunstreaker growled. Jazz held his hands up.

“Sorry, just teasin’. I think I gave Prowler enough time to read my report, so I’m gonna go see if he wants to go over it yet,” Jazz said, standing to head towards the door. He pinged over a navpoint to Sunstreaker. “That’s my favourite spot there. Nice and sunny, very private,” he winked. Sunstreaker punched him in the headlight.

“Fuck off, Jazz,” Sunstreaker muttered. Jazz laughed, pressing a hand over his bumper and wincing.

“Ow! Okay, okay, I’m goin’.”

There was a minute of silence after Jazz left while Sunstreaker and Ratchet worked to process what exactly had just happened. Sunstreaker finally broke it.

“So if you want...”

“Uh, okay,” Ratchet said, avoiding looking directly at him. Sunstreaker stood to help him sit up, taking a hand and bracing his back. Ratchet winced a bit. While he was settling for the next step in the process of sitting up, Sunstreakergrabbed a box of the goodies, subspacing it.

“Should I pick you up -- ?” Sunstreaker asked.

“I wouldn’t mind trying to walk for a little bit first,” Ratchet replied. “I want to stretch my legs. I’ll let you know when I get tired,” he added.

“Okay,” Sunstreaker said. “If you’re sure,” he added as Ratchet winced again as he stood up. Sunstreaker hovered around him like a _very_ concerned bull in a china shop. He wrapped one arm around Ratchet’s back, resting his hand somewhere under his arm and above his waist, and Ratchet grasped for his other hand for a little bit of extra support in staying up straight. So, like a pair of giant metal ballerinas, they awkwardly pirouetted to the medbay doors and out into the hallways of the Ark.

They didn’t make it very far before they heard the rapid and belligerent ting-ting-ting of metal on metal. Sunstreaker turned to see Red Alert down the hall. Sunstreaker paused for a minute, wondering what the little mech was doing. He realized, as Red Alert gradually became larger, that he was sprinting. Directly at them. Full-tilt. Inferno suddenly slid into view from around the corner behind him, hands scrabbling along the floor as he struggled to regain his balance after the tight turn so he could keep chasing his small companion.

“Stop! Stop!” Red Alert commanded, and blew a whistle that Jazz had given to him once when he was referee for a football match, a gift that everybody had immensely regretted since.

“Oh, hello, Red Alert!” Ratchet said cheerily.

“Ratchet, don’t worry, I won’t let this double-crosser kidnap you!” Red Alert shouted.

“What?”

“Oh my god I’m so sorry,” Inferno said, finally catching up to the angry little bot and picking him up off the floor. Red Alert kicked his legs ineffectually in the air.

“He’s been acting strange! Wandering around the Ark in the middle of the night, spying on Ratchet, muttering under his breath! He could be compromised!” Red Alert yelled, furiously blowing his whistle. Sunstreaker stared at him with an expression like that of a deer confronting a pair of headlights, except if the deer was in shock not about the appearance of a car, but about the gall of the car to dare cross its path in the first place.

“He’s just upset you got shot,” Inferno explained while Red Alert pushed his hands into face and tried to escape his grip, blowing enough penalties at Inferno with his whistle to keep the larger mech sidelined for half a century.

“Oh,” Ratchet chuckled. “Don’t worry, Red, Sunstreaker’s just taking me out to get a little fresh air.”

“He snuck into the washracks in the middle of the night and locked the door and turned on all the solvent so the audio bugs couldn’t hear him! He’s spying!” Red Alert snapped. Sunstreaker felt like he’d been knocked out of his body and into another dimension, and was very glad, from all the way over here, that he was so shocked his entire face didn’t immediately melt directly off his helm.

“We’re leaving now,” Sunstreaker decided before the reality of Red Alert’s statement could catch up with him. He and Ratched pivoted, leaving as quickly as they could gently sashay down the hall.

“Have a nice time!” Inferno called.

“HE’S A SPY!” Red Alert screamed. The belligerent and slowly fading sound of the whistle followed them down the hall.

It was not in the cards that they should make it the rest of the way out of the Ark without further interference. They rounded the corner to the entryway to run smack into an entire scene, consisting of Grimlock, who was in the process of standing directly on top of Prowl, and Hoist, who was trying to trip Grimlock by pulling Prowl out from under him, Bluestreak, who was running around in circles around the three begging them all to stop, Sideswipe, who was taking pictures, and Swoop, who was making a game of trying to catch Bluestreak.

“What the _FRAG IS GOING ON_!” Sunstreaker shouted from where he was standing, gently holding Ratchet, whose optics had glazed over slightly as he tried to comprehend the situation in front of him.

“Me Grimlock eat him Prowl,” Grimlock declared.

“Grimlock, you can’t eat Prowl,” Ratchet said, exasperated.

“Me Grimlock don’t have to listen to Ratchet!” Grimlock growled ominously. Sunstreaker, for the first time in his life, didn’t immediately succumb to the desire to punch the Dinobot directly in the nose – he wanted to, but his hands were full. The anger went straight to his head, and for a second he thought he was going to black out from sheer incredulous fury.

“Grimlock, please,” Ratchet pleaded. The Dinobot growled and stomped over, off of Prowl, to jab a tiny little hand at Ratchet’s windshield.

“Me Grimlock do what I want! Me Grimlock king!”

“Don’t talk to Ratchet like that, he’s your dad!” Bluestreak dragged his hands down his face as Hoist lived up to his name and helped Prowl up. Grimlock whirled around, and his tail would have smashed directly into Ratchet if Sunstreaker hadn’t elegantly telemarked both of them out of the way. The sudden flurry of motion made Ratchet wince. The rising tide of fury reached critical mass. Someone was going to be forcibly parted from a limb.

“Hey Sunny, what are you doin’?” Sideswipe asked suddenly, quirking an optical ridge.

“Shut up Sideswipe.” Sunstreaker snapped. He paused. “Can you hold Ratchet for a second?”

“Er, okay,” Sideswipe said, walking over. He awkwardly shuffled over and took over holding Ratchet in the same position Sunstreaker had been, as if he was about to begin some kind of waltz.

“I’ll be right back,” Sunstreaker said, making sure Ratchet was comfortable.

“Er, okay,” Ratchet said.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Sideswipe cautioned as Sunstreaker walked towards the stubborn Dinobot, who had gone on to menacing Prowl and Bluestreak again over whatever their squabble had been. Probably over being asked to deliver a report or stop chewing on the missile batteries on top of the base.

“Hey, Grimlock,” Sunstreaker said. The Dinobot turned towards him, and Prowl and Bluestreak ducked under his immense tail as it swung around again while Hoist took it full-force in the gut with a soft squeaking noise. Sunstreaker reached up and put two hands on Grimlock’s shoulders in a pseudo-hug.

“Hrm?!” Grimlock said, surprised. Sunstreaker braced his knees, and then lifted. Grimlock was heavy, but Sunstreaker was so angry he could have suplexed Devastator. Grimlock went up into the air like his name was Swoop, and then came directly back down like the meteor that had wiped out the creature he was designed for. His head smashed into the ground, and then the massive Dinobot toppled over like a small metal avalanche. Sunstreaker righted himself, turned around, and put his hands on either side of Grimlock’s immense snout as he lay on the floor, dazed.

“If you ever say anything bad to Ratchet again, I’m going to tear off your tiny little arms, and I’m going to shove them so far up your exhaust you’ll choke on them,” Sunstreaker said matter-of-factly. The Dinobot scrabbled back to his feet, shaking his head a bit. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but Sunstreaker cracked his knuckles, and he stopped. Grimlock glanced at Swoop, then glanced around the room, and then slowly back away into the Ark.

“Okay, let’s go,” Sunstreaker said, returning to Ratchet and picking him up wholesale off the ground this time. Sideswipe, sans dance partner, scratched his head.

“What just happened?” Bluestreak asked as Sunstreaker carried Ratchet princess-style out of the Ark.

“I dunno,” Sideswipe mumbled.

 

The spot Jazz had directed them to was a ways off the base – a patch of grass on a bluff overlooking the lake, some ways away from the dam. It was high up, and there was a huge sturdy oak to sit under. Without really thinking about it, Sunstreaker sat down, still holding Ratchet, so the medic was in his lap.

“Er,” Ratchet said. Sunstreaker blinked.

“Oh – do you --” Sunstreaker said. Ratchet sighed.

“No, this is pretty comfortable, actually,” he confessed. Sunstreaker felt his face heat up a bit.

“Oh, I brought – some of the goodies,” Sunstreaker said, pulling out the box.

“Oh, good idea,” Ratchet smiled. He selected two, a gel and some kind of wafer, and popped them both into his mouth at the same time. Sunstreaker also took one, and then they both paused.

“This tastes off,” Sunstreaker commented.

“These are the ones with high-grade in them,” Ratchet said with a hand over his mouth. He swallowed.

“Oh,” Sunstreaker said. “Are you – should we go back?”

“N-no, I only had two,” Ratchet said, but Sunstreaker could already see his face heating up. He thought back.

“But you also had – med-grade,” Sunstreaker said. Ratchet waved a hand.

“Oh, yes, but I’ll be fine so long as I don’t have any more,” Ratchet said. Sunstreaker’s tank did a funny flip with anxiety. Medical grade multiplied the effects of high-grade by something like a power of ten. They sat quietly for a moment.

“Sorry, I know you meant to save them for a special occasion,” Sunstreaker ventured.

“Pfft, as if I’ve got a special occasion to save them for,” Ratchet snorted. He covered his mouth. “Don’t mind that,”

“What?” Sunstreaker asked, baffled.

“I mean don’t worry about it,” Ratchet elaborated.

“No – I mean – why wouldn’t you have a special occasion?” Sunstreaker asked.

“Oh, well, I’m just very busy,” Ratchet explained. “I spend all my time in the medbay, after all, I’m always working! I like work, so it’s really no bother, but,” Ratchet covered his mouth again. “Oh, sorry, nevermind.”

“If something’s wrong, you should tell me,” Sunstreaker replied immediately.

“It’s just, everybody seems to think that’s all I like to do, is talk about work,” Ratchet looked up at Sunstreaker, his faceplate very hot with high-grade buzz. Sunstreaker’s spark did a little flip this time. He was very cute when he was overcharged.

“You like to go for walks, right? We can do that,” Sunstreaker said. “Whenever you want. I can carry you until you’re better.”

“Oh, that’s very sweet...” Ratchet mumbled through his hand, then reached up and patted Sunstreaker on the chassis. “You’re being very sweet. You don’t have to do all this just because I got shot pushing you out of the way, though,” he added.

“What? No, that’s not why,” Sunstreaker began.

“I understand you feel bad about it, but it’s not your fault at all, these things happen,” Ratchet said. “There’s really no need to pity me or feel like you owe me anything. I’m sure you’ve got other things you’d rather be doing than carting around a grumpy medic.”

“No, Ratchet – that’s not why,” Sunstreaker started again.

“Nobody likes to spend time with me, I just remind them about the last time they got hurt, and the next time they’ll get hurt,” Ratchet shook his head. Sunstreaker could tell the high-grade was really getting to him, his face was practically turning red with excess heat. “You get injured all the time so I’m sure this is a real burden for you --”

“Oh my god Ratchet shut up,” Sunstreaker snapped, putting a hand on Ratchet’s face to make him stop talking. He paused. “Oh. Sorry,” he said, taking the hand off of Ratchet’s face.

“Sorry,” Ratchet said. “I’m a little overcharged,” he added.

“No kidding,” Sunstreaker huffed.

“Maybe we should head back after all,” Ratchet said, staring down at his hands.

“Only if you really want to,” Sunstreaker said quietly. “I don’t mind.”

“Why not? I mean – why not?” Ratchet hiccuped. Sunstreaker blushed, but he tried to maintain a stoic expression. Nobody had any right to be this adorable. It was a crime.

“Why don’t I mind?” He asked after he’d regained enough composure to ensure his vocalizer didn’t squeak.

“Yeah. Er, yes,” Ratchet nodded.

“Because you deserve to go on walks whenever you want,” Sunstreaker said flatly. Ratchet squinted at him.

“I do? How come?” he asked.

“Because you’re the best,” Sunstreaker said definitively, as if this explained everything. Ratchet stared at him, then squinted more.

“The best at...what?” he asked.

“Not _at_ something. Just in general,” Sunstreaker gestured roughly to all of Ratchet. “All of you.” Ratchet stared at him.

“....What?” he asked. Sunstreaker huffed, starting to get exasperated. As ever, words, the useless things they were, had failed him again. Maybe it was just because Ratchet was drunk. Sunstreaker put both hands on the sides of Ratchet’s face and leaned in close, to ensure clarity.

“You are perfect,” he said directly into Ratchet’s face. “All of you is very good. The best.” Ratchet stared at him, and Sunstreaker suddenly realized he was just inches away from Ratchet’s face. His own faceplate started to heat up. He could kiss him right now, he realized, just lean forward and take Ratchet’s lower lip between his own and --

He pulled away after a couple of seconds. Ratchet was pretty overcharged, and it didn’t feel right to kiss him at that moment. Ratchet’s vents hitched as Sunstreaker moved away.

“O-oh,” Ratchet stammered. They sat quietly for another minute, Sunstreaker shifted so he could wrap both arms securely around the smaller medic to make sure he didn’t teeter over or something if he passed out.

A light breeze cooled their plating and sent zig-zag patterns across the surface of the water a hundred feet below. Some kind of bird Sunstreaker didn’t know the name for hovered above the lake for a few minutes before diving, rising again with a glint of silver in its talons. Ratchet shifted a bit to rest his head against Sunstreaker’s chassis, which made his spark do that little flip again. They sat there in amiable silence until the sun started to dip into the lake.

“Sunstreaker,” Ratchet finally said.

“Mm?” Sunstreaker looked down.

“Do you really – think I’m perfect?” Ratchet asked, looking up at him.

“It’s objectively true,” Sunstreaker replied bluntly.

“Nobody put you up to this?” he asked, then shook his head and waved a hand dismissively. “Sorry, no, stupid question. You wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Ratchet, I don’t get why you’re having so much trouble believing me,” Sunstreaker said.

“Of course I’m having trouble! Nobody’s ever gently carried me out to a scenic picnic beside a lake and told me I’m _objectively_ _perfect,”_ Ratchet threw his hands in the air, flustered.

“Unbelievable. Everybody on the Ark should be tripping over themselves for the honour,” Sunstreaker said hotly.

“Don’t tease me!” Ratchet snapped, whacking Sunstreaker in the headlight.

“I’m not joking,” Sunstreaker said, looking down at him. Ratchet stared back up at him, and his scowl slowly softened.

“Oh,” he put a hand over his mouth and stared up at him with bewilderment, then back down. “You’re really not.” Silence fell between them again, and the wind started to still. Ratchet had covered his face with his hands, and Sunstreaker was doing his best to give him some privacy while also cradling him in his lap.

“It’s getting late,” Ratchet mumbled, a little bit of static in his voice. “We should go back or Red’s going to blow a circuit.”

“Ratchet, are you – crying?”

“I am very drunk! And my face is very hot! And I’m very tired! The last week has been very emotional for me and this is a lot to deal with!” Ratchet shouted, keeping one hand on his face while he whacked Sunstreaker in the chassis repeatedly. Sunstreaker was stunned somewhere between a feeling of confusion and mortification that, despite all his effort, he’d somehow managed to make Ratchet _cry_. This was the opposite of his intended effect and not at all how he had imagined the day going. “Please take me back to the medbay,” Ratchet added more quietly.

“Okay,” Sunstreaker mumbled, gently scooping the medic up and cradling him gently against his chassis as they started the long, quiet walk home. Ratchet kept his face buried in Sunstreaker’s chest most of the way, but at some point slipped into into a light recharge as his systems continued to work through processing the potent medical and high-grade mixture.

It was dark when they reached the Ark. Hound waved at them in acknowledgement as they returned, and Sunstreaker nodded at him. Sideswipe was also there, hanging over the side of a barricade, looking bored. He jumped up when he saw Sunstreaker, who held up a servo to indicate silence. Sideswipe nodded, tiptoeing around his brother as Sunstreaker carried Ratchet back to the medbay, and then waited outside.

Sunstreaker nodded at Wheeljack, who was doing some work at the desk and flashed his headfins in acknowledgement, then gently put Ratchet back on his berth. Ratchet winced and his optics flickered sluggishly on as Sunstreaker put him down.

“Sorry,” Sunstreaker whispered.

“S’fine,” Ratchet mumbled tiredly, vocalizer laced with static.

“Should I – not come tomorrow?” Sunstreaker added in a voice that was almost sub-vocal.

“No I – no, you can still...come visit if you want,” Ratchet put his hand back over his optics. “I just – overcharge headache,” he whispered. “Please don’t tell Wheeljack, he’ll never let me live it down.”

“I’ll kill him,” Sunstreaker said, making sure Ratchet was settled. “Get some rest.”

“Don’t kill Wheeljack,” a tiny smile hid in the corner of Ratchet’s mouth, which made Sunstreaker’s spark pulse warmly. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Sunstreaker murmured, turning to leave the medbay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got several more pages of this written so I'll probably update it again tomorrow? THANKS FOR ALL YOUR LOVELY COMMENTS I really love getting them and I'm trying to be less shy about responding <3


	4. Pinch Hitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Red Alert is the ghost in the darkness, Sideswipe tries to give Sunstreaker The Talk, Ironhide just tries, Ratchet doesn't know how to do a 'Thing', Starscream is attacked by a swan, and Thundercracker hates being the oldest.

“Sunstreaker,” Sideswipe said once Sunstreaker had left the medbay again, keeping pace with him as he walked down the hall. “You’d tell me if something was going on, right?”

“If something was going on,” Sunstreaker repeatedly blandly. A small high-pitched whine suddenly greeted his audials. He glanced around, but didn’t immediately find anything, so kept walking.

“You know, like...if you were maybe, you know...going through some stuff...” Sideswipe wondered out loud. The little whining noise was getting louder, and it sounded eerily familiar. Sunstreaker narrowed his optics, surveying the dark hallways of the Ark.

“Uh-huh,” he replied to whatever Sideswipe was saying.

“You know you can talk to me if you got anything you wanna talk about,” Sideswipe continued. Sunstreaker frowned in concentration. It sounded like that noise Astrotrain’s family of pet trains made. What the hell was it?

“Sure,” Sunstreaker agreed, whipping his head around as he suddenly identified the noise. There, in the dark, black fingers curled around the corner of the wall, a white forearm, two razor optics, and the quiet fweeeeeeee of a referee whistle. Sunstreaker fixed Red Alert with the most deathly glare he could manage. Unfazed, the security officer lifted two servos, pointed them at his optics, then jabbed them towards Sunstreaker, and then slowly receded away with a final fwee into the shadows.

“What the fuck,” Sunstreaker whispered.

“Huh?” Sideswipe asked.

“Nothing,” Sunstreaker said as they entered their shared quarters. Sideswipe flicked the lights on and flopped down onto his berth, resting on an elbow. Sunstreaker went and picked up Starscream’s leg, he was still in the process of locking the knee joint so it’d make a more effective bat.

“Sooooo?” Sideswipe said after a few moments of Sunstreaker fiddling.

“What?” Sunstreaker asked irritably.

“You wanna taaaalk about annnnythinnng?” Sideswipe said.

“No,” Sunstreaker replied simply.

“Aw, come on! That’s cold,” Sideswipe pushed himself up, sliding to the edge of his berth. “We’re brothers!”

“So what?” Sunstreaker grumbled, whacking at the knee joint unceremoniously with a hammer.

“So – so we’re brothers! I tell you about stuff all the time!” Sideswipe gasped, exasperated.

“I don’t ask you to,” Sunstreaker pointed out. Sideswipe blinked, looking shocked.

“Are you kidding me right now?” he said. He got to his feet.

“I don’t tell jokes,” Sunstreaker replied bluntly.

“Jeez, you’re really a piece of work, huh?” Sideswipe crossed his arms, sitting back down on his berth and also crossing his legs. He tapped his servos against his forearm, glaring at the wall. Sunstreaker tried to ignore him, but a small iota of guilt was worming around in his spark. He tried to ignore it, but ultimately sighed, putting the leg down.

“Sorry. Don’t really wanna talk about it,” he grumbled into his chassis.

“And you – don’t mind hearing about my stuff, right?” Sideswipe asked uncertainly after a couple more seconds.

“I’m your brother and I love you even though you’re horrible,” Sunstreaker replied. Sideswipe stood up and held out his hands expectantly. Sunstreaker sighed, getting up to give his brother a hug. Sideswipe patted him on the back.

“So you’ve got a crush on Ratchet, huh?” he whispered into his audial.

“Oh my god,” Sunstreaker put a hand over his face.

“I kneewwww itttttt,” Sideswipe sang.

“Shut up,” Sunstreaker said, pushing away from his brother. Sideswipe flopped down on Sunstreaker’s berth this time.

“Give me the details!” He demanded.

“Get off my berth!” Sunstreaker snapped.

“Aww, come on, Sunny! You’ve never had a crush on anyone your _entire_ life!” Sideswipe whined. “I wanna know what’s up! You didn’t whack your head or something, did you?”

“Why does everyone keep assuming that?!” Sunstreaker picked Sideswipe up and dumped him unceremoniously on the ground next to Starscream’s leg.

“Sunny, you hate other people,” Sideswipe explained helpfully from the floor.

“So?” Sunstreaker laid down on his berth, facing the wall.

“You barely tolerate me and I’m your twin,” Sideswipe continued to lay on the floor. “But you always liked Ratchet, didn’t you? You’re always staring at him. I wasn’t sure, though, because you’re always making this face like you’re trying to shoot lasers from your optics.”

“Oh my god,” Sunstreaker put his head in his hands. “Really?”

“Sorry buddy, but yeah,” Sideswipe reached up and patted Sunstreaker on the leg. They were quiet for another moment. “So do you like...wanna, ya know, interface with him?”

“I hate you,” Sunstreaker laid down on his face. He would have punched Sideswipe, but they were still in the post-hug armistice period.

“Hey! I’m just asking. I know you’ve never done it before,” Sideswipe sat up. “The first time is a big thing! I mean, not because it’s – a thing, but you know! It’s exciting!”

“How do you know I’ve never done it before?” Sunstreaker snapped. Sideswipe quirked an optical ridge at him.

“ _Have_ you?” he asked.

“No,” Sunstreaker grumbled.

“Well there you go,” Sideswipe laid back down on the floor, folding his arms behind his head and crossing his legs. Another moment of silence passed between them. “You, uh, know how it all works and stuff, right,” Sideswipe quietly asked.

“Sideswipe I really don’t want to talk to you about this,” Sunstreaker could already feel his face heating up.

“I just wanna make sure you – yanno, do it safe and junk,” Sideswipe scratched his chin. “I’d tell you to, you know, go get a pamphlet from Ratchet but – given the circumstances...” he chuckled.

“Please throw yourself off a cliff,” Sunstreaker groaned.

“Do I need to get you like, a vid or something? I can hook you up,” Sideswipe teased.

“I know how interfacing works. Please stop talking.”

“Okay, okay,” Sideswipe laughed, sitting up again. “But in all seriousness, if you do wanna talk about anything – interfacing related or not – I’m here for you, yeah? And I promise not to tell anyone about your crush until you do.”

“Okay thanks goodnight,” Sunstreaker covered his head with his arms. Sideswipe patted him on the back and gave him a kiss on the back of his helm.

“I love you Sunnyyyy,” he sang into his audial before he turned the light off.

“I’m gonna kill you Siiiideswiiiiipe.”

 

The next day Sunstreaker had a guard shift, and he spent most of it sitting with Starscream’s leg in his lap trying to weld the joints straight. He wanted the whole leg straight as an arrow, except the foot, which he wanted at a right angle, so he could kick Starscream in the aft with his own leg. Ironhide was standing with him, holding a rifle over his shoulder as he stared off into the desert. Sunstreaker stole glances at him.

“When do you get off shift?” he asked abruptly.

“Huh?”

“When do you get off shift?” Sunstreaker asked again.

“’Fore you do. ‘Nother half hour or so,” Ironhide replied. “Why?”

“You should go visit Ratchet,” Sunstreaker stared him dead in the face. Ironhide looked back at him, a little disconcerted by the concentration of the glare.

“I went to go see him three days ago,” Ironhide said.

“You’re lying.”

“Am not!”

“Yes you are.”

“I did go see him! He was offline is all,”

“So go again,” Sunstreaker snapped.

“Why do you care?”

“He’s really upset you didn’t go see him,” Sunstreaker replied, jabbing Ironhide in the windshield with Starscream’s fancy blue toe.

“What?”

“You’re making him sad. You’re a fragging useless relative. Even I visit Sideswipe when he accidentally welds something to his aft, and I fucking hate him,” Sunstreaker said.

“You hate everybody. Also, stop with the human swears, you’ll give Sparkplug a heart attack if ‘e hears you.”

“They’re cute,” Sunstreaker replied.

“Not to ol’ Sparkplug. And Carly’d chew your ear off,” Ironhide replied.

“Go visit your fucking cousin,” Sunstreaker interjected.

“I ain’t done nothin’ to deserve your ire, Sunstreaker, why’re you after me like this?”

“Because you hurt Ratchet’s feelings.”

“I did not! Ratchet _hates_ me. He’s always such a grouse, too! Always on me about this, that, or th’other thing. I ain’t gonna go visit him just so he can find somethin’ to nitpick!” Ironhide snapped.

“What the fuck, Ironhide! He almost died and you’re worried he’s gonna _nitpick you_?” Sunstreaker kicked Ironhide in the shin with Starscream’s leg.

“What in the pit, Sunstreaker! Lay off! And I told you to cut it out with the human cussin’!” Ironhide yelped, dancing a few steps away and gripping his shin.

“I’m actually going to fucking murder you if you don’t go visit Ratchet right now,” Sunstreaker said, getting up and pursuing the red minivan so he could continue whacking him with Starscream’s heel. “He just teases you because you’re a shitty patient and you get hurt for fucking stupid reasons and because he loves and worries about you, you fucking dumbass!”

“Sunstreaker – cut it out for Primus’s sake --” Ironhide held up his arms to fend off the assault, then pointed past Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker’s intended murder became an attempted murder as he glanced over his shoulder to see Spike and Carly. Spike was somewhere between horrified and gleeful, and Carly had her hands on her hips and was glaring at him.

“Oh. Fuck,” Sunstreaker said. “Hi Carly.”

“We are going to have _words_ ,” she said, crossing her arms.

“One second,” Sunstreaker said, turning back to Ironhide, who was rubbing his helm where Sunstreaker had put in a pretty good dent. Sunstreaker put a hand on his shoulder and leaned in close.

“Listen to me, Ironhide. Go visit your fucking cousin. And if you’re not still there by the time I get off shift, I’m going to fragging hunt you down and send you straight back to the medbay, and then I’ll have _two_ legs to kill Starscream with.”

“Primus, fine, I’m sorry,” Ironhide said. “I’ll go soon as shift’s over.”

“NOW!” Sunstreaker shouted, and Ironhide jumped before ducking reflexively and turning to run for the medbay. Sunstreaker stood, levering Starscream’s leg in his hands for a second as he watched him go.

“Uh – before the chewing out – what was that about?” Spike asked. Sunstreaker shrugged dismissively. Carly raised a finger and gestured for him to come closer, so he exvented and sat down in front of the tiny, wrathful human.

 

After spending the next two hours being lectured by Carly on the poor example he was setting for Autobot-human relations with his excessively colourful language, Sunstreaker headed towards the medbay. Halfway there he decided to drop off Starscream’s leg in his quarters, and made an about-turn to do so. He faintly heard the haunting fweeeee of Red Alert’s whistle at one point, but elected to ignore it – Red was just reminding him he was still watching. Sunstreaker briefly shuttered his optics and thanked Primus Red Alert was so paranoid he wouldn’t even begin to suspect the real reason he’d been in the washracks that night.

Ironhide, fortunately for his health, was still in the medbay when Sunstreaker walked through the door. He glanced over when he saw Sunstreaker and nodded warily at him. Sunstreaker nodded back, and Ironhide got to his feet.

“Alright, I gotta go. Sorry I didn’t come see ya sooner like I shoulda,” Ironhide said.

“It’s okay,” Ratchet replied, smiling. Ironhide patted him on the shoulder and turned to leave the medbay as Sunstreaker walked over to steal his seat. Ratchet waited for the door to close, then lightly slapped Sunstreaker on the wrist.

“You beat him up!”

“You wanted him to visit!” Sunstreaker replied, snatching his hand away as if it had actually hurt. Ratchet snorted.

“He was covered in dents, said he fell down the stairs,” he laughed.

“Did you have a nice visit?” Sunstreaker asked.

“We did. He was very sorry he didn’t come earlier, said he just didn’t want to think about me being hurt,” Ratchet explained. “It got to him a little, he said.”

“Me too,” Sunstreaker said. Ratchet paused.

“Let’s go for a walk again,” he said suddenly.

“O-oh. You sure?”

“I’m having my surgery tomorrow, so it’s my last excuse to make you carry me around,” Ratchet shrugged nonchalantly.

“I’ll carry you around whenever you want,” Sunstreaker replied flatly. “You ready?” he added, getting to his feet.

“Yes,” Ratchet replied, holding his arms up so Sunstreaker could scoop him off the berth. “Let’s not go as far this time. Top of the hill outside the Ark?”

“Sure,” Sunstreaker said. He paused when he entered the hall, glancing from side to side suspiciously.

“What?” Ratchet asked.

“Shh,” Sunstreaker said, and waited a moment. “I don’t hear Red’s whistle.”

“Oh. Is that good or bad?” Ratchet asked.

“Dunno,” Sunstreaker replied. It was late, but the lights in the Ark hadn’t been shifted to night-mode just yet. Unlike the crew quarters, the hallway outside the medbay was much more open, so there weren’t a lot of places for Red Alert to hide without the benefit of darkness. He’d probably gone back to using the cameras to spy.

Unlike last time, the walk out of the Ark was fairly uneventful. Sunstreaker paused at corners to check and make sure nobody was going to jump them, and listened carefully for any sign of Grimlock. The only person they passed in the hall was a sleepy Prowl going over some datapads, who received a gentle bonk on the helm from Ratchet and a command to get some energon and recharge. Hound had the evening watch again at the door, and nodded at them as they left. Sunstreaker nodded back.

They reached the top of the hill that sat in front of the Ark without further incident, and Sunstreaker carefully settled Ratchet into a comfortable position across his lap. They sat quietly for a moment, admiring the ozone haze where the sun met the desert.

“So,” Ratchet said after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “Do you – uh. Is this a thing?”

“I dunno,” Sunstreaker said. “Is it a thing?”

“Don’t be cheeky,” Ratchet punched him lightly in the headlight. “I mean – do you – want it to be a thing?”

“Yeah, if you do,” Sunstreaker said, then paused. “You mean like a relationship right.”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean,” Ratchet said.

“I understand clarity is important in these things.”

“You’re right,” Ratchet said. “I guess. It’s new to me.”

“Really?” Sunstreaker couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.

“What!” Ratchet pouted. “Nobody’s ever asked me before.”

“ _Really?_ ” Sunstreaker was baffled. Ratchet huffed, crossing his arms. “Well, I guess the Decepticons aren’t lying when they call us all a bunch of nerds,” Sunstreaker postulated. Ratchet snorted, laughing.

“It’s true. As a group we’re really not the most socially gifted bunch of mechanisms,” he chuckled. “Well, what do we, uh, do?” Ratchet mumbled.

“I dunno, I’ve never been on a date,” Sunstreaker replied. It was Ratchet’s turn to be shocked.

“But you’re _you_!” He gasped.

“What?”

“You!” Ratchet gestured roughly to all of Sunstreaker.

“I am very beautiful, you mean,” Sunstreaker guessed. Ratchet nodded. Sunstreaker shrugged. “People’ve asked, I’ve always said no.”

“Oh. Why?”

“I hate everybody,” Sunstreaker explained. “Except you.”

“O-oh,” a little heat was rising in Ratchet’s faceplate. “Because I’m perfect?”

“Objectively, yes.”

“I see,” Ratchet folded his hands in his lap and adopted his usual pondering pose. Finally he broke, looking up at Sunstreaker. “Really? That’s it? You just – all of a sudden? Why now? Because I got shot?”

“Er, yeah,” Sunstreaker shifted his legs a little bit. “I – got really angry after you got shot. More than usual,” Sunstreaker glanced over at an interesting rock shaped like a dog a few feet away. “I was so upset and didn’t know why, then it just kinda clicked, I guess? I’ve always thought you were perfect, but I dunno, I didn’t really think about it as a – you know, a thing, before?” Sunstreaker said. “Because I never thought about having a thing with anybody, really? It’s just not my – thing,” he finished, grumbling a bit.

“I see,” Ratchet said again, rubbing his hands anxiously. Sunstreaker looked back down at him.

“Ratchet, I really wanna have a thing with you, if you wanna have a thing with me,” Sunstreaker said. He hesitated for a second, then reached up to cup Ratchet’s face with one hand. Ratchet’s vents hitched a bit, and Sunstreaker stared at him for a second, leaning in close, then shuttered his optics and went in for the proverbial kill.

One of Ratchet’s hands hovered somewhere above his headfin for a second, then settled on it gently, holding Sunstreaker’s head close to his as Sunstreaker gently took Ratchet’s lower lip between his own. The sensation was much more than he had imagined it would be – the heat of Ratchet’s face next to his own, those wonderful red digits awkwardly scrabbling against his helm while Ratchet’s other hand loosely dragged down across his headlight and pressed under his bumper in a confused attempt to brace himself. Sunstreaker’s engine rumbled eagerly – the way Ratchet arched up ever so slightly in his lap, and leaned into the palm that was cupping his cheek, the way his fingers tugged at his helm ever so slightly.

Sunstreaker turned his head ever so slightly to press forward a little more, switching to lightly sucking at Ratchet’s upper lip and probing gently at his lower with his glossa, begging for permission. In response, Ratchet’s mouth opened ever so slightly, and Sunstreaker shifted the hand cupping Ratchet’s cheek to the back of his helm so he could pull him forward more, pressing his advantage. Ratchet’s vents hitched again but he didn’t try to pull away as Sunstreaker slowly experimented with swirling the tip of his glossa around the inside of Ratchet’s mouth. That mouth was so perfectly _soft_ and _warm_ and tasted like silvered energon gels sprinkled in rust, like all the things Sunstreaker loved to taste, like all the words he loved to hear Ratchet say.

Ratchet moaned lightly into his mouth, and Sunstreaker couldn’t stop his engine from revving. He pulled Ratchet up and pressed just a little deeper into his mouth, finding his glossa with his own, tasting it, pulling it into his own mouth where Ratchet haphazardly imitated his movements. He slid the hand not holding Ratchet’s helm down his waist and along the curve of his aft to grip his thigh, and Ratchet hummed softly, in a way that made the vibration dance across his lips and his glossa and Sunstreaker’s engine practically purred at how perfect it was.

Just when Sunstreaker thought nothing in the universe could possibly ruin this moment, when he thought they would both collapse into a superpoint of perfect bliss, he heard the sound of thrusters. Ratchet broke out of the kiss first, looking up, alarmed, and Sunstreaker’s head snapped up and he glared into the setting sun, engine growling.

Three silhouettes, closing fast. A burst of icy coolant shot through Sunstreaker’s systems, combat protocols jolted online so fast he skipped a gear.

Sunstreaker launched to his feet, scooping up Ratchet and cradling him against his chassis as he turned his back to the three oncoming seekers to protect him from the barrage of blaster fire that started as soon as he jumped down the slope, towards the Ark. The hill protected them both from the onslaught as Sunstreaker slid down it, pebbles scraping along his feet and leaving ugly, angry scratches on his plating.

<Hound! Come get Ratchet!> Sunstreaker commed as he deposited Ratchet on his feet at the bottom of the hill. Ratchet hissed static, clutching his side, but managed to stay upright. Sunstreaker could hear the peel of tires as Hound raced towards them, and gently let go of Ratchet’s hands once he was certain he wouldn’t topple over. Sunstreaker transformed and ripped off towards the base – but quickly slammed on his brakes, telemarking a full U-turn and making a run directly for the hill.

<Sideswipe! Bring leg!> he commed even as he started to hear the Ark’s sirens blare. He blew past Ratchet, who was struggling to climb into the back of Hound’s altmode.

Using the hill as a ramp, Sunstreaker launched himself at the oncoming trine, transforming midair to try to get a grip on the lead jet, Starscream. But Starscream had learned at least a little from their last encounter and pulled up in the nick of time – Sunstreaker’s fingers slid along his underplating, but he couldn’t get a grip. Swearing enough to make Ironhide blush, Sunstreaker transformed again, slamming back into the ground in his altmode with his tires already spinning. The three jets broke formation to bank and follow him – he had to lead them away from the Ark, away from Ratchet, until he was sure the medic was somewhere safe inside.

Blaster shots traced his path through the desert as he swerved to and fro, spinning donuts to throw up dust and trying to find something to ramp off of to get another shot at Starscream. He didn’t have his rifle with him, his best shot was to force the seeker to land somewhere – he remembered there was a canyon nearby. He’d have more trouble manoeuvring, but Starscream wouldn’t be able to follow him into it in his jetmode.

“I’m going to make you pay for stealing my leg, you shiny Autobrat!” Starscream shrieked, diving at him with another round of blaster fire. Sunstreaker transformed back into his rootmode as he approached the canyon’s edge, pressing his palms into the hard earth so he could do a handspring and land in the canyon on his feet rather than driving bumper-first into the riverbed. Starscream’s shrieking continued as he overshot the canyon, closely followed by Thundercracker’s loud iconic sonicboom, giving Sunstreaker enough time to transform back into his altmode and start driving down the riverbed.

There was a sudden _vop_ and Skywarp appeared in front of him in his root-mode, hovering. He levelled his blaster at Sunstreaker and took several shots, then vopped again just before Sunstreaker could reach him, reappearing somewhere behind him. Sunstreaker swerved, but two shots grazed his roof and the third bit painfully into a tire. The rubber melted instantly, searing onto the rim, and Sunstreaker swerved wildly before swapping back to root mode to try to avoid a crash with the wall of the canyon.

“Haha! I’ve got you now!” Starscream’s voice grated his audials as Sunstreaker rolled through the dirt and then landed face first in a shallow pool of water. He pushed himself up and growled, looking over his shoulder. This was bad. Skywarp was a ways down the canyon still, but Starscream was hovering in his rootmode just outside of jumping distance, levelling his null-ray at him. Thundercracker was a ways above him with his arms crossed looking bored, but Sunstreaker knew the grumpy seeker was more than ready to defend his brothers if there was a change in the status quo.

“What, you’re just gonna _shoot me_?” Sunstreaker shouted as he got back to his feet. “I stole your fragging _leg_!” Starscream took two shots, which Sunstreaker ducked before running around a bend in the canyon to hide from further retribution.

“Come out, little Autobot! Or maybe I’ll just go find your medic, hmm?” Starscream.

“We saw you making out!” Skywarp jeered. “You were soooooooooo cuuuuuuute,” he added mockingly. Sunstreaker heard the telltale smack of metal on metal that was Thundercracker putting his face in his hands.

“Oh my fucking god,” Sunstreaker also put his face in his hands. He vented. As Sparkplug would say, this needed to be nipped in the bud. “What’s the matter Skywarp? Jealous?!” He shouted around the corner.

“W-what?” Skywarp’s laughter sputtered out.

“ _You’re_ just mad because _nobody_ wants to kiss _you_ _r_ ugly mug,” Sunstreaker jeered right back.

“Enough! Come out so I can turn you into scrap metal!” Starscream interjected, firing at Sunstreaker’s hiding spot.

<Incoming!> he suddenly got a comm from Sideswipe. Sunstreaker braced himself, unsure of what his brother was about to do.

“Hey, Starscream, how’s this for a pinch hitter?!”

Like some kind of majestic idiot eagle, Sideswipe launched himself off the side of the canyon in his root mode. In a split second that lasted an eternity, Sunstreaker watched his brother arc through the air, holding Starscream’s leg so high above his head it almost touched his toes. Starscream turned, looking at first irritated, then face freezing in terrified confusion and hurt betrayal as he watched his own foot bear down on him like a massive metal swan with a vendetta.

Starscream’s traitorous toe caught him directly in the face, and then the ground also caught him directly in the face, hard enough that the ground split open into its own stupid grin. He groaned, starting to pull himself up, but then it was his turn to do the catching as Sideswipe landed directly on top of him, knocking him clean offline.

A moment passed in silence. Thundercracker was thunderstruck, and Skywarp hovered for a second as he processed what had happened, and then broke in a hysterical fit of laughter.

“His own leg! You fragging killed him with his own leg!” he cackled. Sideswipe hurried over to Sunstreaker’s hiding spot with the leg-bat just as Thundercracker recovered enough from his shock to open fire on him.

“You okay, Sunny?” Sideswipe asked.

“Lost a tire,” Sunstreaker shrugged. “Otherwise I’m good.”

“Other’s’re coming,” Sideswipe said.

“Skywarp, get Starscream, we gotta get out of here before the rest of the groundpounders show up,” Thundercracker growled. “And watch your language,” he added as an afterthought.

“Oooooh, so gooooood, I’m so glad we came, you didn’t want to come TC, you woulda missed it!” Skywarp was still laughing as he pried Starscream’s face out of the riverbed.

“Told him a petty revenge raid on the enemy base was a bad idea,” Thundercracker muttered. Sideswipe and Susntreaker listened to their thrusters ignite, and then recede into the distance. Sideswipe peered around the corner, then went to examine the crack in the riverbed. He whistled.

“Sure left a mark,” Sideswipe commented, hands on his hips. He quirked his head, squinting, then crouched to examine the damage Starscream had left. He covered his mouth. “Oh my god,” he said quietly.

“What?” Sunstreaker asked, coming over as Sideswipe pried something small and silver out of the ground. He looked at it, then closed it tight in his fist, looking up at the sky, smiling, like he was thanking Primus.

“What?” Sunstreaker asked more incessantly. Sideswipe did not praise Primus lightly, usually only when Perceptor let him have the crispy bits after he baked energon treats.

“It’s his nose,” Sideswipe whispered. “I’ve got Starscream’s nose.”

 

There was much fanfare about the nose. Sideswipe was mad with the power the proboscis afforded him. He ran into the Ark holding it above his head like the biblical human infant from the Christmas pageant that the school had put on for them last year. Within fifteen minutes, it was plastered to a grotesque effigy of Starscream’s face and displayed in a shrine of mockery, and most of the Ark had gathered to either catch a glimpse or pay tribute.

Due to the fuss about the nose, Sunstreaker had no problem slipping away from the crowd and back down to the medbay, where he found Ratchet looking somewhat pained, Wheeljack and Perceptor hovering over him to conduct repairs. Sunstreaker froze at the door.

“Sunstreaker!” Sparkplug’s voice came from somewhere to his left, and after a second he tore his optics away to look down at him.

“What’s happening?” Sunstreaker asked, trying not to fidget. Ratchet didn’t look like he was in any kind of imminent danger.

“Somethin’ got misaligned in all the excitement, so Wheeljack and Perceptor elected to get on with replacing everything,” Sparkplug explained. “You want help with that?” he asked, pointing to his shoulder.

“Huh? Oh,” Sunstreaker glanced over at the sagging rubber clinging to his damaged rim. “Er, yeah, I guess,” he said, taking a seat on the ground against a berth to make himself easier to reach for the tiny human. Sparkplug left for a second to get a spare tire from the supply closet, rolling it over and propping it against the medical berth. Replacing a damaged tire was really no big deal, and it was, apparently, one of Sparkplug’s specialties.

“Really trashed this tire, huh?” Sparkplug chuckled. Sunstreaker rested his head on his hand, watching Wheeljack and Perceptor stack Ironhide’s parts on the table, swapping them out one at a time. He sighed. “Put that on the berth for me, will you? Then hold still so I can line it up,” Sparkplug said as he discarded the damaged rim. Sunstreaker obliged, placing the spare within the little human’s reach. Sparkplug rolled it into place. “Something on your mind?”

“Huh?”

“You seem worried. Ratchet’s fine,” Sparkplug patted him on the shoulder.

“I know,” Sunstreaker said.

“So?” Sparkplug said.

“So what?” Sunstreaker glared.

“So why’re you looking at him like a kicked puppy?” Sparkplug was in the middle of tightening a screw. Sunstreaker scowled.

“I’m just – mad about it, and glad he’s okay, and it’s none of your business anyways,” he snapped. He _was_ mad. How dare Starscream inflict even the slightest amount of discomfort on Ratchet, even by proxy? Completely unforgivable. But deep down he knew it could have been worse. The image of the null-ray shearing through Ratchet’s plating like it was made of tinsel, knocked offline before he even hit the ground, the spiderwebbing cracked glass of his windshield as the shards softly tinked onto his hands while he tried to catch him --

This is what Ratchet meant, Sunstreaker realized, when he thought nobody wanted to visit him. Why Ironhide was so reluctant to. There was nothing worse to Sunstreaker than feeling helpless, and nothing had made him feel more helpless than seeing Ratchet bleeding out in his arms while he sat there, incapable of doing anything to stop it. All the anger he felt, all the fear, building up with nowhere to go. Even his retribution against Starscream hadn’t helped, not really. Knowing he was okay had only shifted the feeling into a star that orbited dimly around his mind. At any moment, it could smash into his processor with all its fury, delivering a simple message: Ratchet was alright this time, but next time, maybe he _wouldn’t_ be.

Sunstreaker was not unfamiliar with this sensation. He felt it whenever Sideswipe was seriously hurt, but it happened so often, and Sideswipe was so cavalier about it, that it had become easier to ignore over time. Easier to ignore since they’d come to earth, too, since the serious injuries had become fewer and farther between as the war had degenerated into a glorified slapping contest over energon. In that sense, Ratchet’s injury had been a rude awakening, a brutal reminder of friends lost.

It was a horrible feeling to live with, and Ratchet was its poster-bot. Wheeljack and Perceptor, Hoist and Grapple, all the other engineers and medics did their fair share of repairs, but as the chief medical officer, it was always Ratchet in charge of delivering the bad news. Ratchet’s successes as a medic weren’t nearly as conspicuous as his failures, and for every presence on the Ark, a dozen absences filled the space around Ratchet.

And Ratchet understood this implicitly. It was part of what made him so perfect. He knew that he reminded people of their worst moments, the possibility of future helplessness and despair. So he just worked to try to make sure those moments didn’t happen again. It was so perfect, so selfless, that Sunstreaker couldn’t bear it.

“It’s so fragging unfair,” he muttered darkly. Sparkplug blinked in surprise as he finished tightening a final screw.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing. Thanks for the tire. Tell Ratchet I’ll be back later.” Sunstreaker got to his feet and left the medbay quietly, leaving Sparkplug scratching his head.

 

“Hey Sunnnnyyyyyy,” Sideswipe’s voice was the sonic equivalent of cleaning a litter box. “You doin’ okaaaaaaay?” he asked as he entered their shared quarters. Sunstreaker was sat at the desk they kept along the back wall, where Sunstreaker kept his paints and Sideswipe his tinker projects.

“I’m fine,” Sunstreaker grumbled as he measured out the reducer he needed into the third of four paint mixtures he was preparing.

“You disappeared on me, and I thought you were in the medbay, but Sparkplug said you left,” Sideswipe said. “You didn’t even visit Ratchet, so I was worried.”

“Did you talk to him?” Sunstreaker asked.

“Yeah, I sat with him a bit. He’s sleeping off the repairs now,” Sideswipe said.

“That’s good. I’ll see him when he wakes up,” Sunstreaker replied.

“You want me to leave you alone?” Sideswipe asked after a moment.

“Yeah,” Sunstreaker replied. “Mad.”

“Okay. Let me know if you need anything, yeah?” Sideswipe said, opening the door again. Sunstreaker paused.

“Actually, there is something,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Can you fucking find Red Alert? You’ll be able to hear his stupid whistle.”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Why?”

“I need you to – keep him busy tomorrow,” Sunstreaker replied, pointedly not looking at his brother so he wouldn’t see how his faceplate was heating up.

“Oooo-kaaaaay,” Sideswipe said, sounding confused. “I’ll be in the rec room, yeah?”

“Sure. Night.”

“Night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter! I think there's probably only one more section in this before it's over (the smut). I could probably have chopped this chapter up more, but I kind of wanted to keep these parts all together. I hope this is exactly the correct mix of sweet and sad. 
> 
> Also I'm really sorry about the action scene, they are my greatest weakness.


	5. They Should Be So Lucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ratchet thinks everything's gone back to normal, Prowl doesn't understand, and Sunstreaker makes Ratchet cry (again).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the smut pretty much! Well I front-loaded it with a lot of foreplay and Feelings so there's also that. I apologize in advance.

The medbay clicked with him the next time he walked back into it. Unlike the weird liminal void it had been, it now felt comfortable and warm again – Ratchet was back behind his desk frowning over a datapad, and everything was as it ought to have been. Sunstreaker briefly glanced down one last time over his own plating – he’d spent half the night completely re-detailing himself, and it was very important he hadn’t missed anything.

“Hey, Ratchet,” he said, approaching the desk. Ratchet looked up, then smiled, putting the datapad down.

“Sunstreaker, what can I do for you?” he asked, then suddenly blinked, like he’d remembered something. Sunstreaker couldn’t keep the tiny smirk off his face as Ratchet blushed.

“Wrong question,” Sunstreaker retrieved a paint can from his subspace, holding it at Ratchet. “We have a date.”

“O-oh,” Ratchet leaned back a bit. “I’d – forgot.”

“Mmhmm,” Sunstreaker smoothed a palm across the desktop, gently sliding the datapad out of Ratchet’s reach and leaning forward to make sure his glorious golden chassis was the only thing in his line of sight.

“Sorry, I’d like to, but I’m on shift,” Ratchet said awkwardly, leaning back a little more.

“Don’t care,” Sunstreaker replied.

“Sunstreaker...”

“Call Hoist,” Sunstreaker said bluntly.

“It’s his day off,”

“Fuck his day off, you just got discharged. It’s _your_ day off.”

“That would be very cruel, Sunstreaker,” Ratchet chided.

“For the love of Primus,” Sunstreaker turned and glared into the ether as he activated his comms.

<This is Prowl,> came the weary Praxian.

<I need you to take Ratchet off for the rest of the day.>

<Can I ask why?>

<No.>

There was a long moment of silence during which Sunstreaker suspected Prowl was talking to someone else. Sunstreaker crossed his arms.

<Alright, done,> Prowl said. <Anything else?>

<No.> Sunstreaker said, cutting off the line. He got a short thumbs-up text prompt from Jazz, and scowled before dismissing it.

“It’s sorted, let’s go,” Sunstreaker said, reaching down to take Ratchet’s hand. Ratchet stood up at his gentle tug, and then Sunstreaker reached over and scooped him up off his feet. He paused. “Sorry, force of habit,” he said, but proceeded out of the medbay without putting Ratchet down. “Can we use your quarters?” he asked.

“Oh, uh, sure?” Ratchet said, gently sliding one hand around Sunstreaker’s back.

Sunstreaker rounded the corner and heard a muffled fweeeeee, then a gasp, and then saw two kicking feet vanish around the far corner. After a couple of seconds in which there was much scuffling about, Sideswipe’s hand appeared, giving a small thumbs up, before vanishing again, to the tune of more scuffling and muffled whistling. Sunstreaker nodded his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement of a job well done.

 

Ratchet’s quarters were tidy, and quaint. He had his own washracks, a berth that was intended for a convoy-class and therefore slightly too tall for him, and a little desk that was lined with carefully organized reference datapads and a surface for drafting. In the way of decoration, there was a small table near the door with a wide variety of earth flowers, a few paintings of the same, and a collection of retired and much-loved medical tools lined up for display.

It was so much nicer than the quarters Sunstreaker shared with Sideswipe, which were in a constant state of chaos between Sideswipe’s eclectic hoarding problem and Sunstreaker’s make-shift paint studio. No, even though Ratchet’s room was about the same size, it felt spacious and homey. Perfect for Ratchet.

“Er, welcome,” Ratchet said, scratching his cheek. Sunstreaker gingerly put him down on the edge of the too-tall berth. “So what was the plan...?”

“New paint. Going to strip it and redo it all,” Sunstreaker said.

“Oh. Wait, really?” Ratchet said.

“When’s the last time you did it?” Sunstreaker asked.

“Er. Not since we left Cybertron, I guess,” Ratchet said. Sunstreaker sucked in a vent. He put his hands together, then put them to his lips, shuttering his optics. He opened them again and knelt in front of Ratchet, putting his hands on his shoulders, looking up into his face.

“Ratchet, that’s too long,” he said with a quiet desperation.

“It has been a while, I suppose...” Ratchet scratched his cheek. Sunstreaker shuttered his optics again, covering half his face with a hand.

“How do you live like this,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Ratchet laughed.

“Four million years, Ratchet,”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Ratchet bapped him lightly on the helm with a hand.

“ _Four million years, Ratchet_ ,” Sunstreaker whispered in horror.

“I’ve got the stripper in my washracks,” Ratchet said. “I’d better get started, I guess.” He hopped off the berth – his feet only barely reached the ground even sat on the edge – and made for the washracks.

“Do you want any help?” Sunstreaker said, trailing after him.

“No, no, then you’d have to redo yours as well,” Ratchet waved a hand at him.

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Sunstreaker called as Ratchet vanished into the adjoining room. He pulled out the tarp and started setting out the paints and brushes he would need.

When Ratchet emerged, he was stripped down to just his tints – a rosy off-white and a pale red, as Sunstreaker had suspected. Ratchet checked himself over.

“Did I get it all?” he asked, turning so Sunstreaker could see the back of him. Sunstreaker gave him a scrutinizing once-over.

“Looks like it. I’ll get what you missed,” he said.

“Okay,” Ratchet said, walking over to the tarp.

“I picked slightly different colours to what you had,” Sunstreaker said. “The white you were using had a slightly blue tint. It was clashing with your reds, so I used a base white and mixed in some gold, copper, and metallic silver,” he explained. “It’ll have a slight rose tint, so it’ll match your reds better, and also have a better shine to it.”

“But it will clash with my optics,” Ratchet joked.

“It’ll _contrast_ your optics. It’ll make them really pop,” Sunstreaker replied bluntly.

“Oh,” Ratchet said. Sunstreaker pried the lid off the first coat.

Total repaints often took hours to do, but meticulous as he was, Sunstreaker worked with a speed that reflected his mastery. It was only thirty minutes for him to wrap up the white and move on to the red. Ratchet desperately tried to hide his awkwardness as Sunstreaker painted his aft, so Sunstreaker gently kissed his hip and his waist, stroking his servos with his free hand. Ratchet shifted uncomfortably for a minute, but ultimately settled, placing a hand gently on top of Sunstreaker’s helm, which made his spark do another of its warm little flips.

Ratchet’s hands took the longest, in the end, but only because Sunstreaker insisted on meticulously cleaning them first.

“Your hands are very important,” he explained from his position on his knees on the floor. “I need to make sure there’s none of the old paint that’s going to grunge up the sockets.”

“Right,” Ratchet murmured, but his hand twitched in Sunstreaker’s grip as he massaged the cleaning cloth along a seam. Sunstreaker glanced up, squinting, but quickly went back to work. He finished the first hand without too much fuss, but Ratchet couldn’t seem to keep his second hand still. Sunstreaker paused after a particularly bad twitch, and Ratchet barely remembered not to touch his face with his other still drying hand.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “My hands are very sensitive.”

Sunstreaker stared up at him for a second, then, without changing expression, slowly lifted Ratchet’s hand to his lips. Using both of his own hands, he cupped it against his face like the precious treasure it was. Sunstreaker shuttered his optics, and reverently kissed Ratchet’s palm. Ratchet’s vents hitched, and Sunstreaker onlined one optic to check the medic’s expression. Ratchet had gone rigid – completely shocked. His cheeks had gone absolutely molten as heat flooded his faceplate. Sunstreaker smirked into Ratchet’s hand and then shuttered the optic again to gently drag his lips from the palm to the thumb, just barely touching the bare metal with the tip of his glossa. He tenderly and gently kissed the tip of the digit, then sank his mouth down around it all the way to the base. He bobbed his head ever so slightly, swirling his glossa around the servo.

Ratchet’s cooling fans clicked on. Sunstreaker slowly released the digit, dragging his teeth ever so barely along the metal, finishing by ever so gently biting the tip of Ratchet’s thumb. He looked up at Ratchet with half-lidded optics, still using the medic’s own hand to hide his smug smirk. Ratchet was frozen in place, his other still-drying hand hovering just above his mouth. Sunstreaker gave the palm one final quick kiss and then went back about finishing cleaning it. Ratchet stayed still and very silent the rest of the time he worked on it, only letting himself exvent when Sunstreaker was finally done.

“A-alright,” Ratchet said, gently shaking his hands in the air while he waited for them to dry, “are we done?” he asked, pointedly staring at the floor nearby.

“No, I want to add some extra things,” Sunstreaker said, pulling out the fourth can of paint he had. He pried it open, revealing a shade of red that was only a fraction lighter than the paint he’d applied to rest of Ratchet. “I want to do some patterns,” he explained.

“On the white?” Ratchet asked. Sunstreaker shook his head.

“No, red on red. This paint has a higher gold content, it’ll be a lot more reflective than the red I already replied. You’ll be able to see it anyways if you look close, though, but it’ll only be really noticeable if the light catches it.”

“That’s, uhm, thoughtful of you,” Ratchet said. “Sorry, I mean, it’s really nice – I think it’ll probably turn out beautiful! Er, sorry. I’m not – great at this.”

“You’re fine,” Sunstreaker said. “Your right hand should be dry, so I’ll start there.”

“What are you going to paint?” Ratchet asked as Sunstreaker put Ratchet’s hand on a cloth on the berth and bent over it. He pulled out the tiniest detailing brush he had and very gently massaged Ratchet’s servos to get the twitching out of them.

“Floral patterns,” Sunstreaker said without looking up, dipping the brush in the paint and very carefully beginning in the centre of Ratchet’s hand. He avoided painting anywhere near the seams – he’d be loathe if any of his patterns interfered with the operation of Ratchet’s hands.

“I do like flowers,” Ratchet chuckled as Sunstreaker worked.

“You have a lot of them,” Sunstreaker replied. “And they’re fun to paint,” he added as an afterthought. “I thought about doing medical tools or something, but that was lame,” he explained.

“Aw,” Ratchet laughed.

“Not because _they’re_ lame – because this isn’t about work,” Sunstreaker tried to explain. “Being a medic isn’t all your hands are good for, so if I covered them in medical stuff – it’s not what I’m trying to say.”

“Okay,” Ratchet said, frowning slightly.

“You’ll get it when I’m done,” Sunstreaker huffed. “Now shut up, I have to concentrate.”

The patterning by far took the longest out of all the painting, but Ratchet didn’t seem to mind. He sat still the entire time and said little, watching Sunstreaker work with fondness – Sunstreaker only glanced up at him a couple of times to catch his expression, and each time his spark did yet another little acrobatic manoeuver in its casing.

Sunstreaker painted azaleas and camellias along Ratchet’s servos, carnations nestled in sprigs of lavender lovingly etched along the backs of his hands. Poppies resting on dead leaves were cupped in his palms, ringed by zinnias and gladioli. He made each hand a mirror for the other, so when Ratchet placed his hands together, it would be like he was holding a bouquet. When he was done, Ratchet held his hands up to the light.

“Sunstreaker, this is beautiful,” he said after a quiet moment. “I didn’t know you could do this.”

“I’ll touch them up whenever you want,” Sunstreaker said. “But I’m not done yet,” he added.

“Hmm?” Ratchet asked, then his face went bright pink with heat as Sunstreaker put his hands on his knees and spread them apart.

“I gotta do your panel, too,” he said.

“Wh-what? You do?” Ratchet stammered, face going from pink to molten red.

“Yeah, it’s important,” Sunstreaker said matter of factly.

“It is?” Ratchet squeaked.

“Well, it’s kind of for my benefit, too,” Sunstreaker admitted. “’Cos I’m gonna get to see it all the time.”

“Oh, are you now?” Ratchet’s expression went from one of shock to a scowl at the drop of a hat, and he glared down at Sunstreaker.

“Oh. Am I not?” Sunstreaker blinked up at him.

“I – we didn’t really talk about it,” Ratchet’s face softened a bit again, and he looked anywhere but at Sunstreaker’s face – which was right between his knees. He awkwardly held his drying hands up and tried not to fidget.

“Ratchet, do you want to interface with me?” Sunstreaker asked. “In general,” he added after a pause. “Sorry for doing all the weird stuff to your hand if no,” he continued, faceplate heating up slightly.

“Er, no, that’s fine,” Ratchet looked at the roof. “Uhm, uh, sure, I’m okay with the idea, generally,” Ratchet coughed.

“Do you wanna interface once I’m done with this?” Sunstreaker asked flatly.

“Uh,” Ratchet looked all around the room, like he was desperately trying to escape the conversation they were having. “I guess I’m – not opposed to the idea,” he said.

“That’s not good enough, you have to be enthusiastic about it,” Sunstreaker explained, still deadpan.

“I do, huh?” Ratchet snorted.

“Yeah,” Sunstreaker quirked the corner of his mouth. “Is there anything I can do to make you more enthusiastic?” he asked in a slightly more husky tone.

“N-no, not right now, I think I’m already pretty enthusiastic about it,” Ratchet waved his drying hands at him.

“You are, huh?” Sunstreaker leaned on Ratchet’s knees, sliding a servo gently up and down his thigh.

“For the love of – yes, I’m – very much – good to go,” Ratchet’s vents hitched a bit as he glanced down at him. “I was just – you shouldn’t assume,” Ratchet stammered.

“Yeah, I know, sorry,” Sunstreaker said. “You were just really into it yesterday, so I guess I jumped the gun a bit.”

“That’s alright,” Ratchet finally smiled down at him.

“Anyways, I’m gonna do this now,” Sunstreaker said, pointing between Ratchet’s legs as he picked up the detailing brush once more.

“Er – why again, though?” Ratchet asked as Sunstreaker pushed Ratchet’s legs open wide and settled carefully in front of his panel.

“Because if you ever decide to share this with anyone – me or anyone else – I want you to know you’re showing them a work of art. And I want them to know that they’re fragging privileged just to be _looking_ at you,” Sunstreaker dipped the brush in the paint. “They should be so fragging lucky,” he added darkly, squeezing Ratchet’s thigh as he settled in to start working.

Ratchet was quiet for a moment as Sunstreaker started working, but his head snapped up when he heard a quiet bit of static escape Ratchet’s vocalizer.

_Oh my god_ , Sunstreaker thought, horrified as he saw the cleansing fluid beading from Ratchet’s optics. _I made him cry again._

“Ratchet,” he said softly, standing so he could cup the medic’s face. “Ratchet, don’t cry,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss the tears off his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Ratchet mumbled, still holding his hands away and looking down. Sunstreaker pulled his face back up and kissed his chevron.

“It’s okay. I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“I’m not sad, I’m – nobody’s ever said anything – quite like that to me before,” Ratchet murmured.

“Well you’re not very drunk, and you’re not very tired, so I guess it must be because your face is very hot, and it’s been an emotional couple of days, huh?” Sunstreaker teased quietly. Ratchet snorted.

“Yeah, that’s gotta be it,” Ratchet said shakily, smiling.

“You gonna be alright? Can I keep going?” Sunstreaker asked quietly, gently pressing another kiss below Ratchet’s optic.

“Mm,” Ratchet bobbed his head slightly in a nod. Sunstreaker gave him one last kiss gently on the lips, then settled back between his legs to get to work. In the centre, Sunstreaker painted a sunflower, ringing it with irises threaded with orchids. Along the seam where Ratchet’s pelvis met his thighs he painted tulips, and filled in any remaining space with as much plumeria as he could. At some point early on Ratchet’s hands finished drying, and he gently rested one on Sunstreaker’s helm, stroking the fin with a thumb. His vents occasionally hitched – the stimulation of the brush was a little bit like a glossa – and his panel got progressively warmer as Sunstreaker worked, which made the frontliner grin smugly.

When he was finally done, Sunstreaker leaned back to check the work, placing the paints aside.

“Well, there’s one problem,” Sunstreaker said, resting his head on Ratchet’s knee and looking up at him with half-lidded optics, smirking slightly.

“What?” Ratchet said warily.

“We have to wait for the paint to dry,” Sunstreaker said, lightly kissing Ratchet’s knee. “But,” he added, slipping a hand underneath his thigh, “the hotter I make you, the faster it’ll go.”

“Oh,” Ratchet said in a slightly underwhelming way. Sunstreaker glanced up at him – he had his usual look of concerned concentration, but he was also blushing hard. Sunstreaker decided he needed a slightly more aggressive tactic.

With one smooth motion, he hefted the leg he was kissing up and over his shoulder, opening his mouth and pressing his glossa to the seam that ran from Ratchet’s knee to his pelvic strut. Ratchet windmilled his arms as Sunstreaker knocked him off-balance with the movement, but managed to land a hand behind him on the berth, and stay upright, which was a little disappointing. Sunstreaker pressed his advantage, trying to flatten the medic without just overpowering him – he slid his glossa up along Ratchet’s inner thigh, pushing his legs further open with his other hand until he reached the joint between Ratchet’s thigh and pelvis. Careful not to bump the drying panel, Sunstreaker pressed his lips as hard into the space as he could, tweaking the sensitive gears and wires with his glossa, gripping the thigh he was holding with enough strength to both prevent Ratchet from accidentally bumping him and to demonstrate just exactly how badly Sunstreaker wanted him.

“Ah!” Ratchet gasped, but still managed to remain upright. Sunstreaker grinned into the wiring, pulling his lips back and angling his head just enough that his teeth could press against the sensitive cables – teeth that could shear through the wires like they were foil, teeth that had torn through throats and tasted active energon, teeth that would keep Ratchet safe, teeth that would shred anyone who so much as looked at him wrong --

Ratchet’s intakes hitched as Sunstreaker pushed his legs incrementally further apart, pressing his fingers hard into the seam of Ratchet’s more distant thigh. He could feel the heat radiating off the medic’s panel even as he stroked his glossa up and down, sucking and pulling at cables with his lips. He felt Ratchet tilting back ever so slightly and pressed his head forward more, straining for more purchase that he couldn’t quite get without risking bumping the rapidly drying paint --

“Sunstreaker --” Ratchet’s said his name with a breathiness usually reserved for Primus himself, and it made Sunstreaker’s cylinders fire hard. His engine rumbled lightly and the hand holding Ratchet’s other leg reached up to hook into the seam between his thigh and his aft, which made Ratchet suck in another sharp vent. “Mm – Sunstreaker --” he said again, a little louder, and Sunstreaker’s engine thrummed. Heat was starting to pool heavily in his own array, and so was frustration. He could already feel his spike straining to pressurize, and he growled, abandoning the hip strut and letting Ratchet’s leg fall off his shoulder. Ratchet didn’t have time to tilt forward before Sunstreaker was pressing up, kissing his waist and dragging teeth along his bumper, glossa swirling over a headlight as he progressed upward.

“Ah – Sunstreaker --” Ratchet gasped again, this time more in alarm than arousal as he started to tip backwards again. Sunstreaker didn’t care, his name sounded so _good_ when it came from Ratchet’s vocalizer, he skipped the windshield and went straight for Ratchet’s neck cables. “Sun --” Ratchet started but this time Sunstreaker cut him off with a heated kiss, trying to catch that name before it left his mouth so he could taste it, find out why it sounded so much _better_ when Ratchet said it --

Ratchet was tipping backwards, but this time Sunstreaker caught him, just so he could grip the medic’s helm in one hand to pull it closer so he could push his glossa deeper into his mouth. Ratchet’s hands pressed against his chassis, then found their way around, servos digging into the seams of his back. Ratchet broke the kiss briefly to gasp out hot air over Sunstreaker’s lips, murmuring his name again, which tripped Sunstreaker’s last ounce of restraint.

Sunstreaker slipped a hand between Ratchet’s legs, pressing his servos into Ratchet’s panel and making the medic’s entire engine sputter. He dragged the tips of his fingers hard over the seams – there was no sense of wetness from the paint, not that Sunstreaker cared at that point. The panel snapped open without much more prompting, conductive lubricant already lining the sensitive housing for Ratchet’s valve.

Sunstreaker grinned at Ratchet, pressing his teeth into the medic’s cheek as he traced the lips of Ratchet’s valve with two fingers, making Ratchet gasp and shutter his optics. He buried his face in Sunstreaker’s shoulder, clinging to him as Sunstreaker experimentally slipped a servo between the folds. From his experience working his own valve, he could immediately tell Ratchet’s was a little smaller, so he reined himself back. One knuckle at a time, he slowly thrust his finger in.

“Ratchet, you’re so fucking perfect,” he murmured, kissing Ratchet’s helm and chevron as he slowly worked on adding a second digit. Ratchet’s reached up Sunstreaker’s back until one hand was pressed into the back of Sunstreaker’s helm, the other gripping his shoulder tightly.

“Mm,” Ratchet’s face was as hot as his slick valve, and Sunstreaker grinned, pressing his teeth into Ratchet’s helm so he could feel the smile.

“Feels good?” Sunstreaker asked through a kiss.

“Mmhmm,” Ratchet mumbled into his neck.

“You ready for me?” Sunstreaker murmured. Ratchet’s vents hiccuped again and Sunstreaker felt him stiffen slightly. “I won’t be rough,” Sunstreaker assured.

“I know,” Ratchet smiled into his neck, still panting, relaxing again.

“Don’t have to,” Sunstreaker said. “Can just do this if you want.”

“No, I want you,” Ratchet mumbled. Sunstreaker leaned back a bit. “Plus, you think I can’t tell _exactly_ how hot you are?” he teased, leaning forward to kiss Sunstreaker lightly on the lips. Sunstreaker’s engine revved a bit and he thrust hard with his fingers into Ratchet’s valve, making Ratchet moan, and knocking him off balance enough for Sunstreaker to force him further back onto the berth, and finally onto his back.

Sunstreaker kissed Ratchet hard, running his unoccupied hand down from Ratchet’s neck, pressing into the contour of his bumper and then down and under his aft to hold him up off the berth, putting him at Sunstreaker’s whim.

“You want me, huh?” Sunstreaker hummed into Ratchet’s neck cabling.

“Yes,” Ratchet gasped, hands trying to find some balance on the berth before he decided to just use Sunstreaker as an anchor, wrapping his arms around the frontliner’s shoulders.

“You can tell _exactly_ how hot I am?” Sunstreaker teased his anterior node even as his own panel snapped open, his spike practically leaping from the casing.

“Very,” Ratchet murmured.

Sunstreaker sat back, pulling the medic’s thighs up and around his waist so Ratchet’s aft was resting in his lap, and he could feel the spike sliding along his valve lips. Sunstreaker took a moment to savour the view – Ratchet laid out in front of him, face hot, biting the knuckle of one servo while his other hand ran over his bumper. Sunstreaker’s spark swelled.

“Sunstreaker...” Ratchet’s vocalizer was laced with static that painted perfect geometry over his audials, Sunstreaker leaned forward, optics half-lidded as he took his spike and lined it up with the lips of Ratchet’s valve. “Mm – Sunstreaker --” Ratchet moaned, and Sunstreaker felt like his engine might explode – he took Ratchet’s hips in both hands to pull him forward as he thrust for home.

_Oh, Primus_ , Sunstreaker groaned as he felt his spike enveloped by those perfectly soft folds, slick and hot. He’d never actually had his spike in someone's valve before and for a second he was stunned, resting over Ratchet and panting hard. Fortunately, Ratchet was similarly stunned, and they both laid there, heavily venting as they acclimatized.

Sunstreaker recovered first and immediately adjusted his position – pulling Ratchet’s hips forward so he could lean over and kiss him while staying firmly hilted in his valve. Once he’d found his leverage, he drew himself out slowly – he wanted to feel every inch of Ratchet’s valve in detail, know the location of every node and sensory bundle, and he wanted Ratchet to appreciate every single inch and ridge of his spike – which he did, if the gasping was any indication. Just before fully withdrawing he snapped his hips forward again, engine growling possessively.

He shifted his angle again ever so slightly so he could bite Ratchet’s neck cables, settling into a rhythm of long, powerful strokes. Ratchet’s hips clung to his, his hands scrabbled over his back and dug into seams and stroked the rims of tires but mostly just tried to hang on as Sunstreaker pounded into him with as much restraint as he could muster, which was very little.

Ratchet’s valve was more perfect than Sunstreaker had ever been able to picture in his fantasies – it was so _warm_ and _wet_ and it fit his spike _just so_ , the way it flexed and clenched down around him when he changed his angle to hit _just_ the right node, how it dragged on his ridges whenever he pulled back for another thrust. Then there was the way Ratchet’s hips squeezed his whenever he hit his ceiling node, the way Ratchet kept gasping and moaning his name like it was an aria, the way he buried his face against Sunstreaker’s helm and held on like he was an island in a storm --

It was hard to keep the slower pace he’d set, he wanted to make Ratchet scream that name. His strokes became faster and harder, pumping hard into that slick heat, kissing Ratchet hard on the mouth, finding one of those perfect hands and pinning it to the berth above Ratchet’s head as he adjusted again to accommodate his frantic thrusts.

“Ratchet,” Sunstreaker gasped against Ratchet’s lips, “you’re completely – gorgeous.”

Whatever Ratchet tried to say back, Sunstreaker consumed the words, pressing his glossa deep into Ratchet’s mouth. Ratchet’s valve spasmed and clenched around his spike, his back arched, and the charge building up over his plating finally snapped – cascading across Sunstreaker’s chassis, bringing him hard into his own overload. With one final thrust he pumped transfluid into Ratchet, the spasms of his valve drawing out both their overloads and greedily milking Sunstreaker’s spike. He’d give him every drop he wanted, he thought absently as he groaned through the last of the overload, filling Ratchet.

As the afterglow settled over them, Ratchet vented deeply, clinging loosely to Sunstreaker, who kept his spike snugly hilted in his valve and his aft angled up to stop any of the transfluid from spilling before it could settle into Ratchet’s tanks – he wanted him to keep every bit of him. Sunstreaker peppered him with kisses, nipping at his lips and neck lightly and possessively, squeezing the hand he still had pinned.

“That was --” Sunstreaker began.

“Perfect?” Ratchet finished teasingly.

“Mmhmm,” Sunstreaker bit down on a cable a little harder than he had been, making Ratchet gasp a little. “I – need a minute,” Sunstreaker added, finally extracting himself from Ratchet’s valve and feeling oddly naked because of it.

“A minute?” Ratchet asked.

“Before we go again,” Sunstreaker explained bluntly.

“You’re kidding,” Ratchet said, aghast.

“You don’t want to?” Sunstreaker grinned sharply, sitting back a bit and tracing gentle circles on one of Ratchet’s headlights.

“I’ll – need more than a minute,” Ratchet stammered. He paused at the grin, frowning. “Are you teasing me?”

“Yes and no,” Sunstreaker said. “I absolutely want to turn you over, hold you down and pound you into the berth, and I’m sure I’ve got the energy to do it, but,” Sunstreaker kissed Ratchet lightly on the chevron, “I know you’re a little more delicate than I am.”

“Is delicate a nice way of saying I’m old and I don’t have a high-performance engine?” Ratchet tried to grumble, but couldn’t help smiling as Sunstreaker belligerently continued to pepper his helm with tiny kisses.

“No, I just mean I have a higher interface drive and a lot more energy than you. Right now, anyways,” Sunstreaker said. “But I’m good if you just want to clean up and snuggle.”

“That – might be good,” Ratchet said quietly, kissing Sunstreaker’s headfin. “But we can – do it again in the morning if you want?”

“Whenever you want, Ratchet. Whenever, whatever, however,” Sunstreaker murmured. “Hard or soft, spike or valve, mouth, hands, anything. I’m all yours.” Sunstreaker gently pulled away to get something to clean up with. “Or if you never want to do it again, that’s fine too,” he added as he found a cloth and quickly wiped himself down before going to help Ratchet.

“No boundaries at all?” Ratchet murmured as Sunstreaker climbed onto the berth beside him after helping him clean up. He gingerly wrapped his arms around the medic.

“I dunno, I guess I’m not big into threesomes, and I guess I’d like to know if you decide to see other people,” Sunstreaker mused. Ratchet snorted and kissed him lightly in the nose.

“I think you’re all I can handle at once, Sunstreaker,” he laughed. “We’ll work it out. For now, I wouldn’t mind a little recharge.”

“Yeah, you’ll need it. I think I’ve got it down now, so I’m really going to blow your struts in the morning,” Sunstreaker said matter of factly, settling comfortably with his arms and one leg draped over Ratchet, who curled into his broader chassis.

“Oh my god,” Ratchet murmured.

“Gonna make you really scream this time. Won’t be able to walk right for days,” Sunstreaker whispered teasingly.

“Goodnight, Sunstreaker,” Ratchet said into his chassis, lightly punching him in a headlight.

“Goodnight, Ratchet. Love you.”

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that's the last chapter of this guy! Thanks so much for reading! If you wanna see more stuff like this, do let me know, and I might write some more with some other characters down the road, as this was quite fun! Also if you spot any glaring errors please tell me ;u; 
> 
> Thanks again! I hope you liked it!


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